THE  NOVELS  OF 
FRANK  SWINNERTON 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 
ON  THE  STAIRCASE 

THE   CHASTE  WIFE 
NOCTURNE 

SHOPS  AND  HOUSES 

►^SEPTEMBER 


n  FROM~  THE  UBRAR.V  OF  f| 

ANNE   DILLON 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Helen  A.  Dillon 


"Fresh,  original,  and  very  interesting.    It  is  subtle,  a  love 

./*  I  ■!        .    «1 /I  !•         if 


fl 


9 


"A  remarkably  fine  and  subtle  study  of  two  women 
of  contrasted  temperaments.  The  velvety,  delicate 
straggle  between  Marian  and  Cherry  is  l  ;scribed  with 
a  finesse  worthy  of  Henry  James.  Mr.  Swinnerton 
dis  lays  literary  art  of  a  very  high  type.  He  never 
lapses  into  the  banal  and  the  obvious;  he  never  helps 
himself  out  of  a  difficult  situation  by  resorting  to 
clumsy  melodramatic  devices.  The  author's  even, 
f  im  ly  tempered,  f  irmly  disciplined  prose  is  a  delight  in 
these  days  of  so  much  uncouth  ar  d  barbarous  writing. 
He  demonstrates  that  depth  of  vision  and  clarity  of 
expression  can  be  reconciled." — New  York  Tribune 

"SEPTEMBER  reveals  Mr.  Swinnerton  as  the  most 
flawless  artist  among  the  younger  Engl'sh  novelists. 
Ma  'ian's  September  gives  the  book  a  .nood  just  as 
sha  "eable  by  the  reader  as  the  mood  of  a  Whistler 
nocture  is  by  those  fortunate  to  see  it.  SEPTEMBER 
is  going  to  be  d'ccussed  because  Marian  *id  what  she 
did." — Chicago  Tribune 

"Decidedly  worth  while.  Marian  *'  tcellent;  deeply 
interesting,  deeply  moving.  And  tne  a  are  all  sorts  of 
capital  turns  and  touches — the  idyllu  stage  of  Marian 
-Nigel  is  achievement  enough  for  one  novel." 

— New  York  Sun 

"A  Novel  of  rarely  admirable  quality  containing  some 
of  the  finest  qualities  of  both  SHOPS  AND  HOUSES 
and  NOCTURNE.  In  Marian  Forster  Mr.  Swinnerton 
has  drawn  a  woman  as  convincing  as  she  is  unusual." 

— Providence  Journal 


BY   FRANK  SWINNERTON 

September 

Shops  and  Houses 

Nocturne 

The  Chaste  Wife 

On  the  Staircase 

The  Happy  Family 

george  h.  doran  company 


SEPTEMBER 

BY 

FRANK  SWINNERTON 

AUTHOR   OF    "  SHOPS   AND   HOUSES," 
"NOCTURNE,"  ETC. 


NEW  XBf  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1919 
BY  GEORGE  IH.  DOR  AN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


PR 

7 


TO 

MARGUERITE 


1(  /? 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  ONE:  CHERRY 

CHAPTER                                                                                                                                            PAGK 

I. 

The  Cigarettes n 

II. 

Nigel  Sinclair 

22 

III. 

The  Arrival  of  Cherry 

■       35 

IV. 

After  Dinner 

•       43 

V. 

Cherry  in  the  Morning 

•       49 

VI. 

Afternoon  Sunshine 

58 

VII. 

A  Visitor       .... 

65 

VIII. 

Tennis     .... 

70 

IX. 

The  Evening 

77 

X. 

Saturday 

89 

XI. 

The  Flight  . 

103 

BOOK  TWO:  NIGEL 


I.  Howard's  Return 113 

II.  Prelude 122 

III.  Politics 131 

IV.  The  Swarm 142 

V.  The  Visit 152 

VI.  The  Drive  Home 162 

VII.  Nerves 172 

VIII.  Howard 183 

IX.  Summons 190 

V 


vi  CONTENTS 

BOOK  THREE:  MARIAN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Sloan  e  Street 201 

11.  The  Dance 212 

III.  The  Walk 222 

IV.  A  Visit  from  Nigel 230 

V.  Three's  Company 242 

VI.  The  Question 250 

VII.  Betrayal 258 

VIII.  The  Lover 271 

IX.  Confession 281 

X.  The  Errand 289 

XI.  Cherry  and  Marian 297 


BOOK  OiNE:    CHERRY 


CHAPTER  I:  THE  CIGARETTES 


THE  village  of  Hippeswell  lies  well  in  the  middle  of 
Suffolk,  remote  from  any  large  town,  and  sharing 
the  peace  of  the  district  with  perhaps  a  dozen  other  vil- 
lages of  similar  size.  It  consists  of  only  one  long  street 
of  houses,  most  of  them  cottages,  with  a  few  of  larger 
size ;  and  it  contains  perhaps  eight  or  nine  hundred  people. 
Apart  from  the  village,  the  biggest  houses  in  the  imme- 
diate neighbourhood  of  Hippeswell  are  at  some  distance, 
and  one  or  two  of  them  are  as  much  as  a  couple  of  miles 
from  the  railway  station.  It  was  in  one  of  these  larger 
houses  that  the  Howard  Forsters  lived,  in  the  days  before 
the  war;  and  the  Howard  Forsters  were  among  the  most 
well-to-do  families  in  Hippeswell.  They  were  childless, 
and  Forster  had  bought  Dene  House  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  before  this  story  opens.  He  had  always  been  a  man 
of  means,  but  he  was  also  a  partner  (not  a  very  active 
partner)  in  a  large  firm  of  shipbrokers,  so  that  he  was,  at 
the  age  of  nearly  fifty,  an  extremely  prosperous  land- 
owner, who  preferred  to  lease  his  farms  rather  than  to 
work  any  of  them  for  himself,  and  who  led  the  life  of  a 
man  of  leisure. 

Forster's  wife  was  a  number  of  years  younger  than  her 
husband.  While  Howard  spent  several  days  in  each 
month,  and  sometimes  of  each  week,  in  town,  his  wife 
stayed  throughout  the  summer  at  Dene  House.  In  the 
autumn  they  both  migrated  to  London,  where  they  had  a 
flat,  and  where  they  were  able  to  enjoy  in  a  rather  sub- 
It 


12  SEPTEMBER 

dued  way  the  satisfactions  of  the  city's  winter  gaieties. 
Howard,  perhaps,  enjoyed  these  gaieties  more  than  his 
wife,  for  he  was  a  clubman  and  a  v'xvcur,  while  his  wife 
was  too  young  to  be  matronly  and  to  enjoy  the  company 
of  the  inert,  and  not  quite  young  enough  to  be  a  married 
hoyden  and  to  frequent  the  society  of  the  scatterbrained. 
Moreover  she  had  no  taste  for  smart  life,  because  she 
had  originally  come  from  a  family  less  rich  than  her  hus- 
band's, and  because,  while  she  was  an  only  daughter,  she 
had  not  had  opportunities  as  a  girl  for  cultivating  the 
restlessness  of  spirit  without  which  smart  life  has  no 
enticements.  She  was,  that  is  to  say,  neither  neurotic 
nor  thoughtlessly  eager  for  stimulant. 

The  two  had  been  married  for  fifteen  years.  In 
Hippeswell  they  were  known  to  all  and  were  generally 
liked.  In  the  houses  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles  they 
also  had  friends  and  a  moderate  amount  of  social  inter- 
change with  people  with  whom  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance would  have  been  a  bore.  But  the  life  they  led  had 
tended  to  encourage  Howard  in  bucolic  and  athletic  pleas- 
ures which  absorbed  his  attention  without  producing 
other  qualities  than  the  purely  muscular,  while  his  wife 
had  become  thoughtful  and  humane  and  observant  of 
human  nature  to  an  extent  that  sometimes  made  people 
rather  ashamed  in  her  company  of  their  own  silliness  and 
passion  for  excitement. 

•  • 

11 

It  was  already  evening,  and  Marian  Forster  knew  that 
in  a  few  moments  she  must  go  and  dress  for  dinner. 
From  the  drawing-room  of  her  husband's  house  she  could 
see  across  the  wide  stretch  of  lawns  into  a  distance  of  flat 
Suffolk  country.  There,  directly  to  the  east,  she  could 
imagine  the  shallow  waters  of  the  North  Sea;  above  her 
was  the  moon,  hardly  more  than  a  week  old — a  maiden 


THE  CIGARETTES  13 

moon  waxing  ever  larger  and  more  bright.  It  was 
summer,  and  the  birds  were  squabbling  like  happy  chil- 
dren in  the  noble  trees  that  lay  to  north  and  south  of 
the  house.  An  inexhaustible  stillness  lay  upon  the  house 
and  upon  the  country,  which  was  slipping  gently  into  cool- 
ness after  the  vehement  heat  of  the  late  June  sunshine. 
Marian  lingered,  seriously  watching  that  prospect  of  still 
green,  but  in  no  sense  aware  of  it.  Her  thoughts  were 
busy.    She  was  in  a  dream. 

Marian  herself  was  a  rather  tall  woman,  fair  and 
candid,  her  eyes  serious,  her  brow  rounded,  her  chin  firm 
and  beautiful.  She  carried  herself  with  dignity,  but 
without  hauteur;  her  hands  were  still  the  slim  hands  of 
youth,  but  all  her  movements  were  deliberate  and  con- 
trolled. She  looked  less  than  her  age,  which  was  thirty- 
eight.  In  her  expression  there  was  neither  sorrow  nor 
contentment,  for  Marian  had  long  ago  found  in  her  day's 
work  full  occupation  for  her  mind,  and  if  she  ever  had 
regrets  they  were  never  seen  by  others.  She  was  ex- 
traordinarily reserved,  completely,  it  seemed,  mistress  of 
herself  in  every  emergency.  She  had  neither  children  nor 
relatives.  Apart  from  her  husband,  she  had  no  intimate 
ties,  and  although  she  had  those  whom  she  called  friends 
they  were  alike  in  finding  her  so  uncommunicative  as  to 
remain  almost  thrillingly  mysterious  to  them  all.  It  was 
a  burden  to  the  more  impulsive  and  garrulous  among 
these  friends  that  Marian  had  no  complaints  to  make  of 
life.  She  did  not  even  complain  of  her  husband,  which 
is  a  very  favourite  form  of  egotism  in  married  women. 
It  was  unnatural,  they  felt.  It  made  them  feel  subtly 
inferior  to  her.  Yet  they  all  liked  her,  and  were  con- 
scious of  her  magnetism,  and  wished  that  they  resembled 
her  in  self-control  and  in  beauty.  Young  girls  told  her 
their  secrets — such  poor  little  secrets  as  a  rule, — and 
women  told  her  the  truth  about  things  they  generally 


14  SEPTEMBER 

misrepresented  in  confidence.  This  was  an  unconscious 
testimony  to  Marian's  wisdom;  it  was  a  proof  of  her 
strength  that  those  who  had  been  so  honest  did  not  after- 
wards dislike  her.  They  did  not  even  say  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  tell  you  all  this  "  :  they  ardently  bored  her 
as  if  to  do  that  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  their 
unreal  lives. 

Only  to  herself,  in  solitude,  did  Marian  sometimes  say  : 
"  My  God !    What  rubbish  it  all  is !    And  what  a  fool 
I  am  to  listen  to  it !  " 

She  did  not  say  this  before  her  husband,  who  often 
confided  to  her  the  secrets  of  his  past  misadventures. 
He,  sublime  egoist,  found  her  still  the  most  sympathetic 
woman  in  the  world.  He  was  denied  the  neurotic  satis- 
faction— so  delightful  to  the  self-engrossed  and  self- 
indulgent — of  feeling  misunderstood  and  estranged  by 
his  wife. 

in 

The  sharp  click  of  a  closing  door  indicated  that 
Howard  Forster  was  in  the  room.  Marian  turned 
quickly.  He  was  in  tweeds,  evidently  just  returned  from 
his  before-dinner  walk,  a  little  flushed,  rather  worn  with 
good  living  and  the  exhaustion  of  tissue  due  to  a  strenu- 
ous life  of  self-indulgence. 

"  Already?  "  Marian  said.    ''Is  it  as  late  as  that?  " 

"Very  nearly,"  came  the  dry  reply.  "  Very  nearly  as 
late  as  that.    But  not  quite." 

"I  must  hurry."  There  was  no  haste  in  her  move- 
ment, but  she  was  quite  decided.  "  Have  you  had  a 
good  walk  ?  " 

Howard  grunted,  pulling  down  his  waistcoat.  Tall  as 
was  Marian,  he  was  a  couple  of  inches  taller,  and  very 
broad.  The  breadth  which  in  youth  had  attracted  her  as 
a  sign  of  manhood  was  increased  to  something  more  than 


THE  CIGARETTES  15 

a  suggestion  of  well-covered  bones.  His  face  was  red 
and  his  hair  thin.  He  had  eaten  and  drunk  too  readily 
all  his  life  to  remain  the  fine  figure  of  his  young  man- 
hood. Yet  he  was  still  handsome,  still  capable  of  at- 
tracting women  who  were  magnetised  by  his  air  of  ani- 
mal strength.  Moreover  his  tongue  was  still  supple.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  who  can  always  exert  mental 
ingenuity  to  capture  the  attention  of  responsive  females; 
his  success  in  former  encounters  gave  him  a  readiness  in 
move  and  counter-move  that  counter-balanced  the  effect 
of  his  obvious  decay.  His  laugh  was  sudden  and  infec- 
tious, and  the  air  he  had  of  withholding  secrets  was 
fascinating  to  all  those  whose  brains  were  as  shallow  as 
their  intuitions.  They  puzzled  over  him,  mystified  and 
speculative,  a  condition  which  was  an  essential  prelimi- 
nary to  the  myth-making  of  love.  Only  to  Marian  was  it 
known  that  the  secrets  he  withheld  were  oddly  free  from 
importance,  but  that  was  because  Marian  had  mastered 
the  secrets  early  and  now  marvelled  that  they  should  ever 
have  been  secrets  at  all.  She  knew  him  thoroughly,  and, 
which  was  clever  of  her,  she  did  not  despise  him.  It 
would  never  have  done  to  drive  him  to  a  genuine  secrecy, 
because  such  a  suppression  would  without  fail  have  be- 
come a  vicious  clot  in  his  system.  So  Marian  knew  him 
and  remained  his  true  wife,  a  role  which  was  that  of 
mother  and  confidante.  Howard  respected  her.  He 
knew  his  own  inferiority,  but  he  still  cherished  the  belief 
that  she  did  not  know  it;  and  this  in  itself  was  a  testi- 
mony to  her  wisdom  as  well  as  to  her  self-control. 

They  stood  looking  at  one  another  in  passing. 
Marian's  eyes  frank  and  observant,  his  ironic  and  shrewd. 
As  she  was  going,  he  caught  her  hand  for  an  instant, 
smiling  down  at  her,  unable  to  help  himself.  It  was  for 
an  instant  only,  and  she  was  immediately  after  gone 
from  the  room. 


16  SEPTEMBER 


IV 


Tier  own  bedroom  was  upon  the  first  floor  of  the  house. 
It  was  large  and  bare,  with  a  polished  floor  and  light- 
coloured  rugs.  Her  bed  was  of  dark  oak,  a  beautiful 
wood,  and  the  other  furnishings  were  in  the  same  style. 
The  hangings  and  the  counterpane  of  her  bed  were  uni- 
form, fresh  blue  and  green  and  red.  The  room  gave 
evidence  of  a  very  decided  personality.  It  was  a  per- 
sonality loving  light  and  order;  but  the  room  lacked 
intimacy,  as  though  Marian  carried  her  natural  reserve 
even  into  her  personal  surroundings.  It  was  a  room  for 
retirement  and  for  peace;  but  it  had  not  the  freakishness 
that  goes  with  a  charming  and  nonsensical  spirit  of  dis- 
order. Her  evening-dress  lay  upon  the  bed,  a  beautiful 
dress  of  grey  and  lemon-colour  which  she  alone  could 
have  worn  without  incongruity.  Everything  in  the  room, 
apart  from  the  gay  hangings,  was  in  pure  colour,  Quaker- 
ish in  sobriety,  and  without  admixture.  Everything  was 
refined,  cold,  fresh. 

It  was  not  long  before  Marian  was  dressed.  A  few 
minutes  later,  the  gong  sounded  and  she  slowly  went 
down  the  wide,  white-margined  staircase,  pausing  to 
glance  out  at  the  garden  in  that  ravishing  dusk,  and 
then  awaiting  her  husband  in  the  drawing-room.  He 
was  a  little  late ;  but  he  came  back  into  the  room  looking 
pink  and  vigorously  groomed  after  a  bath  that  seemed 
to  have  embraced  his  hair,  so  moistened  and  flatly  brushed 
did  that  remnant  shine  above  his  bucolic  face. 

"Now,  my  dear!"  cried  Howard,  with  impetuosity. 
He  moved  about  the  room  with  the  plunging  gait  of  a 
stout  man.  He  still  had  an  air  of  irresistible  energy  and 
bonhomie,  the  air  he  had  preserved  throughout  life,  but 
matured  and  developed  almost  into  a  bedside  manner. 
He  clapped  his  hands  together  and  held  open  the  door. 


THE  CIGARETTES  17 

and  they  passed  side  by  side  through  the  doorway  and 
across  the  open  hall.  In  the  dining-room  the  parlour- 
maid stood  waiting,  very  staid  and  demure,  as  though 
she  were  altogether  without  personal  reality,  but  was 
formed  only  to  obey.  They  moved  to  their  seats  in 
silence,  for  nowadays  when  the  Forsters  dined  alone  they 
seemed  never  to  have  anything  to  say  to  each  other.  It 
was  a  typical  middle-aged  and  childless  menage.  How 
different  it  had  been  fifteen  years  ago!  But  Marian 
flinched  a  little  at  the  recollection  of  that  time.  She 
flinched  always  when  she  thought  of  her  old  adoring  love, 
of  the  summer  evening,  in  twilight,  when  somebody  else 
had  been  playing  Chopin's  music  until  her  heart  seemed 
full  of  tears,  and  Howard  had  drawn  all  that  emotion 
into  love  for  himself  with  a  rapturous  ardour  long  sacred 
in  her  memory.  Now  Marian  wondered.  She  had  been 
so  young  then,  and  so  easily  moved;  and  love  had  been 
so  precious  to  her.  She  recalled  the  enchanted  days  with 
sadness.  Young  girls  do  not  care  for  reserved  wooers : 
Howard,  eager,  all  fire  and  persuasiveness,  had  answered 
her  dream  as  no  other  man  could  have  done.  On  her 
side  it  had  been  love — the  ingenuous  blossoming  of  a 
girl's  idealism;  and  when  that  had  faded  she  was  a  wife 
only  half-awakened,  still  shyly  fearing  to  analyse  her 
emotions.  It  had  been  for  later  days  to  show  that  in  a 
life-partnership  there  are  other  beauties  of  comradeship 
than  those  of  passing  joy  and  excitement.  But  she  had 
never  loved  another  man.  Her  heart  had  hardened  a 
little,  or  it  had  found  in  compassion  a  way  of  escape  from 
brooding  regret.  That  was  why  she  could  with  equa- 
nimity continue  to  share  Howard's  home  and  to  observe 
him  across  the  table  with  such  affectionate  unconcern. 


18  SEPTEMBER 


Howard  paused  in  eating  his  fish  and  drank  some 
claret,  looking  at  her  afterwards  with  a  sharp  expression 
over  the  top  of  his  raised  napkin.  He  had  an  air  of 
singular  preoccupation.  Evidently  some  care  unknown 
to  her  was  oppressing  him. 

"  I  must  go  up  to  town  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  I  shall 
stay  at  the  club.    There's  nobody  at  the  flat,  is  there?  " 

Marian  shook  her  head.  Was  he  anxious  about  some 
business  trouble  ?  She  answered  as  though  no  such  prob- 
lem had  occurred  to  her. 

"  No.  Edith's  here.  I  didn't  think  we  should  be  going 
up  for  some  weeks." 

"  Business.  I  must  go.  It'll  be  all  right."  He  pursed 
his  lips  and  frowned  in  what  she  took  to  be  a  good- 
humoured  sense  of  business  importance.  He  was  such  a 
child  still !  He  still  did  not  discuss  business  with  her ! 
"  I  shall  be  back  by  Thursday,  I  expect." 

"  Yes.  I've  got  Miss  Templeton  coming  to  dinner 
to-morrow." 

"  Thank  God  I  shall  miss  her,"  said  Howard,  quietly. 
Nevertheless  he  was  frowning  with  preoccupation. 
Marian  reproved  him  by  a  side  glance  at  Blanche,  who, 
standing  by  the  sideboard,  was  listening  to  all  they 
said. 

"  And  the  Sinclairs  on  Wednesday." 

"  The  Sinclairs  ?  "  He  grunted.  "  Didn't  know  they 
were  about." 

"  They've  got  a  young  nephew  staying  with  them. 
They're  bringing  him." 

"  Excellent."  There  was  an  air  of  dryness  in 
Howard's  speech.  "  Then  you  won't  be  lonely.  How 
old's  the  boy?" 


THE  CIGARETTES  19 

"  I  don't  gather.  Mrs.  Sinclair  says  he's  a  charming 
boy.  But  nowadays  that  may  mean  almost  anything, 
from  twelve  to  thirty.    He  can't  be  very  old." 

Howard  thought. 

"  Old  Sinclair  must  be  getting  on  for  sixty.  I'm 
getting  on  for  sixty  myself." 

"  I  always  forget,"  Marian  remarked,  "  whether  you're 
over  or  under  fifty." 

They  both  smiled,  Howard  with  a  faint  irritation; 
because  they  both  knew  he  was  only  forty-nine.  It 
was  an  occasional  fad  with  him  to  pretend  to  great  age 
and  good  preservation. 

"  Of  course,"  Howard  went  on,  giving  her  only  half 
his  attention,  "  they've  been  married  a  good  many  years." 

"  But  you'd  think  that  wouldn't  matter  as  the  boy's 
a  nephew."  Marian  brought  him  back  to  a  degree  of 
relationship  which  he  seemed  inclined  to  ignore.  Howard 
gave  a  grim  smile. 

"  Well,  you'll  see  on  Wednesday,  won't  you,"  he  sug- 
gested. "  All  this  speculation's  like  the  twisting  of  an 
envelope   .    .    .   Anybody  else  ? " 

"  Nobody  else  before  you  come  back.  Do  you  expect 
to  see  the  Mants  while  you're  in  town?"  Marian  was 
not  looking  at  Howard  as  she  spoke,  and  so  his  hesitation 
at  her  remark  passed  unnoticed.  She  heard  him  say,  in 
a  moment : 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  If  you  do,"  she  pursued  innocently,  "  ask  them  when 
they're  coming  down  here.  They  all  like  tennis,  and 
Robert  will  be  glad  of  the  practice." 

"  Robert  ?     Oh,    yes,   that's   the    schoolboy    .     .     . " 

Howard  rather  impatiently  gave  his  plate  a  slight  push. 

'  No,  no,"  he  added  to  Blanche,  who  offered  him  more 

fish.     "  I  don't  expect  Tom  Mant  could  get  away.     Or 

Alice,  either." 


20  SEPTEMBER 

Marian  was  letting  the  subject  drop,  when  she  added 
a  supplement. 

"  No.  But  it  would  be  nice  to  have  Cherry  and  Robert 
for  a  few  days.  However,  just  as  you  like.  Probably 
you  won't  see  them.  I  suppose  Cherry's  about  twenty- 
two  now.  I  haven't  seen  her  for  a  long  time.  Goodness, 
it  is  a  long  time!  It  must  be  two  or  three  years  since  I 
met  her  with  Alice;  and  then  it  was  just  for  a  minute. 
You've  seen  them  all  fairly  lately   ..." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Howard.  Marian  for  the  first  time 
noticed  his  suppressed  irascibility,  and  the  Mants  dis- 
appeared from  the  conversation  with  discretion.  She 
thought  no  more  about  them,  although  the  schoolboy, 
Robert,  was  a  favourite  of  hers,  and  she  was  always  glad 
to  have  him  in  the  house  during  the  long  sleepy  summer 
months.  Instead  of  talking,  she  went  on  with  her  dinner, 
and  her  mind  escaped  back  to  the  day  upon  which  she  had 
last  met  Cherry. 

vi 

Blanche  had  brought  the  coffee,  and  had  returned  to 
the  kitchen.  The  Forsters  sat  apparently  dreaming,  with 
the  electric  lights  turned  up  but  the  blinds  undrawn. 
Behind  the  dark  still  trees  the  evening  sky  was  luminously 
pale.  There  seemed  to  be  no  breeeze  at  all,  and  the  birds 
were  becoming  less  noisy  as  the  shadow  settled  upon  the 
garden. 

Howard  had  leaned  forward  mechanically  to  the 
cigarette-box,  and  was  groping  in  it.  With  a  jerk  he 
tilted  the  box  up. 

"  Damn  that  girl !  "  he  said.  "  No  cigarettes  in  the 
box !  "  It  was  almost  an  explosive  cry,  and  he  half 
rose  from  his  chair  to  go  to  the  bell.  There  was  a  little 
wave  of  irritation  between  them  at  such  grotesque  annoy- 
ance over  a  trivial  thing.     Marian  quickly  pushed  her 


THE  CIGARETTES  21 

own  box  of  mother-of-pearl  across  the  table  towards 
him. 

"  Have  one  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  I  think  you'll  like 
them." 

Howard,  recovering  himself  at  the  sound  of  her  per- 
suasive voice,  grinned  as  he  reached  his  big  hand  forward 
and  gripped  the  box. 

"  What  are  they  ? "  he  demanded.  "  Two-toed- 
twins?" 

Marian  looked  at  him,  surprised  at  an  unfamiliar  al- 
lusion ;  and  Howard  struck  a  match  very  quickly,  so  that 
his  face  was  illuminated  and  she  saw  only  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing in  the  sudden  ray.  For  a  moment  Marian  thought 
nothing.  Then,  irresistibly,  there  came  into  her  mind  the 
intuitive  knowledge :  That's  a  joke  he  has  with  another 
woman.  She  slowly  rose  from  the  table,  the  thought 
having  no  sequel;  and  went  to  the  door.  Later,  she 
wondered  whether  his  visit  to  London  had  been  explained. 
Also  his  impatience,  and  a  perceptible  restlessness  during 
the  preceding  days  which  had  considerably  puzzled  her. 


CHAPTER  II:  NIGEL  SINCLAIR 


OFTEN  during  the  two  days  she  stopped  in  her  work 
— it  was  not  physically  strenuous — and  fidgetted. 
At  such  times  a  small  perpendicular  crease  came  into  her 
naturally  open  brow,  and  her  eyes  darkened.  She  did  not 
become  flustered  or  aggrieved.  But  she  was  a  little 
resentful.  It  seemed  so  hard  that  Howard  could  not 
yet  stay  his  fancies,  because  in  the  old  days  she  had  filled 
his  life  with  such  ardent  love  that  any  lighter  feeling, 
coming  now,  after  so  many  episodes  of  a  peculiar  nature, 
was  a  betrayal  of  persistent  animal  stupidity.  He  had 
learnt  nothing.  He  never  would  learn  anything.  He 
was  incorrigible;  and  however  charming  perversity  may 
be  in  the  young  it  grows  indecent  with  the  attainment  of 
middle-age.  So  Marian  sighed  at  her  husband's  pro- 
longed adolescence,  feeling  sure  that  her  original  thought 
had  been  a  true  one.  So  many  minor  evidences  came  into 
her  mind  subsequently — little  intangible  things  which  she 
had  not  noticed  at  the  time — and  gave  substance  to  her 
conviction.  He  had  been  kind,  awkward,  even  boister- 
ous; he  had  gone  walking  beyond  his  usual  habit.  He 
had  been  restless,  suddenly  irritable,  and  then  apologetic. 
Had  he  written  or  received  letters?  If  she  had  known 
that,  she  would  have  been  clearer.  And  what  sort  of 
woman  was  it  this  time  ?  That  was  where  the  humiliation 
came :  Marian  was  aware  that  Howard  had  no  great  judg- 
ment in  the  matter  of  character.  If  the  woman  were 
good  she  would  suffer;  if  she  were  not  good  she  would 

22 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  23 

find  him  as  treacherous  as  any  other  light  lover.  If 
Marian  had  loved  him  any  longer  she  would  have  shrunk 
from  such  a  thought;  but  she  no  longer  loved  Howard, 
and  that  was  why  she  could  see  this  case  as  one  of 
several,  and  not  as  a  unique  passionate  injury  to  her- 
self. 

It  was  curious  that  she  did  not  lose  her  sense  of  the 
beauty  of  the  garden  and  the  country,  and  that  although 
she  was  preoccupied  she  looked  forward  with  interest  to 
the  coming  of  the  Sinclairs  on  Wednesday  evening.  She 
wore  for  dinner  an  old  blue  silk  dress,  which,  however, 
was  so  pretty  in  its  rather  fantastic  embroidery  as  to 
make  her  look  very  young  and  fair.  She  was  waiting  for 
her  guests  a  full  ten  minutes  before  they  arrived,  expect- 
ing their  coming  with  definite  eagerness,  and  going  over 
in  her  own  mind  the  details  of  their  reception  and  enter- 
tainment. 

While  she  waited  she  remembered  that  Howard's 
cigarette-box  had  been  filled.  She  remembered  also  the 
curious  name  which  Howard  had  mistakenly  applied  to 
her  own  cigarettes.  It  was  in  looking  at  an  illustrated 
paper  for  women  that  she  saw  their  real  name.  Readers 
of  the  paper  were  advised  in  the  advertisement  to  smoke 
Tee-to-tum  Cigarettes.  Tee-to-tum — it  came  to  her  in  a 
flash  that  a  silly  woman  might  give  them  such  a  nick- 
name as  the  one  he  had  jokingly  used. 

"  Ugh !  "  said  Marian  to  herself,  with  a  little  shudder. 
"  They're  scented;  How  horrid!  "  She  did  not  observe 
that  the  paper  had  been  thrown  by  her  nervous  hands  to 
a  distance  of  about  a  yard.  That  was  the  first  sign  she 
had  given  that  she  was  enduring  any  strain.  Neverthe- 
less, she  picked  the  paper  up  again  and  noted  the  address 
from  which  the  cigarettes  might  be  ordered  direct. 


24  SEPTEMBER 


11 


A  few  minutes  later  there  was  the  sound  of  a  motor 
horn;  and,  as  she  went  forward  to  greet  them  upon  the 
threshold,  the  Sinclairs  appeared  in  a  state  of  the  greatest 
cheerfulness.  Mrs.  Sinclair  came  first,  a  buxom  woman 
of  something  over  fifty,  with  her  head  covered  by  a 
loosely-woven  white  shawl.  She  hurried  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, laughing  and  talking  in  her  hoarse,  good- 
humoured  voice ;  and  took  both  of  Marian's  hands. 

"So  nice!"  she  cried.  "Awfully  nice!  How  are 
you?  I'm  afraid  we're  late.  Oh,  yes  we  are!  I  knew 
how  it  would  be — they  say  it's  the  women  who  are  always 
late;  but  that's  not  the  fashion  now.  It's  the  men.  They 
think  it  gives  them  value !  Anyway,  it  wasn't  I  who  kept 
the  car  waiting.  I  assure  you!"  She  spoke  so  con- 
tinuously that  Marian  was  forced  to  delay  her  greeting 
of  Tom  Sinclair — the  "  old  Sinclair  "  of  her  husband's 
age-calculation.  He  was  a  battered-looking  man,  bat- 
tered with  the  weather  and  with  good-living,  with  a  sly 
expression  that  did  not  conceal  his  kindness  and  modesty. 
He  had  a  long,  withered  neck,  and  the  central  protuber- 
ance was  unpleasantly  prominent.  His  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  was  dry  and  tart,  with  a  suggestion  of  a  general 
wryness ;  and  his  speech  was  tart,  too. 

"  That  beastly  boy  hadn't  put  any  petrol  in  the  tank. 
We'd  have  stuck  on  the  road  if  I  hadn't  looked.  I  always 
look,  now.  At  first  I  didn't.  The  boy's  a  fool.  How 
are  you,  Mrs.  Forster?    Husband's  away,  I  hear  ..." 

Only  then  did  Marian  see  behind  Tom  the  slight  figure 
of  Nigel  Sinclair.  Both  uncle  and  aunt  made  way  for 
him,  and  so  she  had  a  clear  view  of  his  dark  face  and 
slim,  erect  figure.  His  hair  was  worn  rather  long, 
brushed  straight  back  from  the  brow,  but  not  destitute 
of  a  slight  curl.     He  was  perhaps  twenty-six,  and  his 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  25 

eyes  were  very  piercing;  but  his  mouth  was  extremely 
attractive,  his  lips  parted,  showing  very  white  and  even 
teeth.  He  was  quite  strikingly  handsome,  Marian  felt. 
It  gave  her  pleasure  to  see  him  and  to  meet  his  frank 
expression  with  one  as  perfectly  cordial. 

"  This  is  Nigel,"  gossiped  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  He's  just 
as  if  he  was  our  own  boy,  though  he's  Tom's  brother's 
only  son.  Nigel — Mrs.  Forster.  Mrs.  Forster,  although 
he  looks  so  demure  now  he  used  to  be  the  naughtiest  child 
in  the  world.  No  persuading  him  to  do  anything  he 
didn't  want  to.  And  then  hiding  away  and  browsing 
and  sulking.  I  tell  you :  I  had  him  .  .  .  However  ..." 
"  Really,  Aunt  Kathy!  "  protested  her  nephew.  "  It's 
awfully  unkind  to  rake  up  the  past  like  this !  "  Marian 
looked  at  him  and  easily  saw  that  the  protest  was  genuine, 
and  due  to  shyness,  so  she  smiled  with  enjoyment  of  this 
affectionate  teasing  and  its  amusing  effect  upon  the 
victim. 

"  Rubbish !  Mrs.  Forster  will  soon  find  out  for  her- 
self. But  he's  a  good  boy  now,  Mrs.  Forster.  He's  lived 
through  his  naughtiness,  and  he's  all  the  better  for  it. 
That's  a  thing  that  sometimes  happens,  I  hope.  Nigel, 
Mrs.  Forster's  the  one  sensible  woman  in  the  district 
.  .  .  Besides  myself,  of  course." 

Both  Marian  and  her  third  visitor  felt  that  they  were 
immediately  upon  the  most  excellent  footing  of  acquaint- 
anceship. A  glance  passed  between  them — a  laughing 
glance  of  understanding.  As  it  was  exchanged  the 
dinner-gong  sounded ;  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  caught  Marian's 
arm. 

"  And  you  said  we  weren't  late,  my  dear !  "  she  cried. 
"  Blanche  must  have  had  her  watch  in  her  hand  for  the 
last  ten  minutes !  " 

All  this  time  Marian  had  not  spoken  a  word  beyond 
the  ordinary  forms  of  greeting;  but  her  spirits   were 


2G  SEPTEMBER 

mounting  with  every  passing  instant.  For  the  first  time 
for  weeks  her  eyes  were  radiant.  She  felt  young  in 
spirit,  beautifully  young  and  warm  and  happy.  She 
looked  quite  dangerously  lovely. 

iii 

"  I  don't  believe  Blanche  has  got  a  watch,"  she  whis- 
pered to  Mrs.  Sinclair,  as  they  went  into  the  dining-room. 
"  Perhaps  she  keeps  it  to  wear  on  Sundays." 

"  Just  as  well  for  us !  "  whispered  back  her  visitor.  "  I 
know  what  parlourmaids  are,  my  dear  .  .  .  what  scenes 
they  can  make.  Hysterical  creatures.  Oh,  what  a  lovely 
dress  that  is.  I  know  I've  seen  it  before — yes,  I  know; 
but  age  cannot  wither  ..." 

Marian  laughingly  rebuked  her,  because  Mrs.  Sinclair 
was  being  indiscreet. 

"  It's  not  as  old  as  all  that  ..."  she  cried  gaily,  and 
in  a  low  voice  of  protest.    "  Don't !  " 

They  were  seated,  and  Marian  had  glanced  round  the 
table.  Her  glance  was  so  unobtrusive  that  no  visitor 
ever  thought  about  her  qualities  as  a  hostess.  It  was 
the  penalty  she  paid  for  being  a  kind  of  artist,  that 
nobody  gave  her  credit  for  what  was  unseen.  What  a 
lucky  person  is  he  who  can  draw  attention  to  his  own 
excellence !  It  is  the  rarest  of  attributes  in  the  sincerely 
virtuous. 

"  Anything  happened  at  Hippeswell?  "  asked  Tom  Sin- 
clair. The  Sinclairs  lived  five  miles  away,  outside  a 
neighbouring  village ;  but  they  had  a  generous  interest  in 
local  gossip.  "Any  deaths,  babies,  or  common  in- 
firmities? " 

"  Nothing,"  declared  Marian,  stoutly.  "  Nothing  but 
a  subscription  for  Mrs.  Gupp." 

"  What  another !  "  He  was  like  an  astonished  bull  at 
the  news.    "  Good  Lord !  " 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  27 

"Poor  thing  ..."  breathed  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "She 
must  be  ninety-two.  Why  can't  she  die?  I  should.  I 
should  persuade  myself  that  I  was  being  buried  in  a  gold 
coffin."  Seeing  that  her  nephew  was  puzzled,  she  ex- 
plained. "  Mrs.  Gupp's  a  woman  here  who  thinks  she's 
a  queen.  A  delusion.  She's  mad,  and  everybody 
humours  her  because  the  poor  old  thing's  so  beautiful." 

"  She's  rather  clairvoyant,"  urged  Marian.  There  was 
a  general  protest.  The  Sinclairs  were  heartily  prosaic 
and  agnostic  in  every  possible  sense.  Only  Nigel  seemed 
interested. 

"  D'you  mean  she  foretells  the  future?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  she  seems  to  have  knowledge  .  .  .  No,  it's 
not  nonsense.  I  won't  have  you  say  that !  I  don't  mean 
that  she  says  '  a  dark  man  will  have  a  great  influence  in 
your  life,'  or  anything  of  that  sort.  It's  just  that  she's 
got  a  very  acute  sensibility.  She  seems  to  be  able  to  feel 
the  illness  of  her  friends,  and  I  am  told  she  reads  faces 
and  characters   ..." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  burst  out  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "  I've 
seen  the  woman.  She  said  to  me,  '  You're  one  who  has 
never  travelled  far.'  I  might  have  shown  her  all  Tom's 
Cook  ticket-cases.  He's  got  them  all.  It's  the  hoarding 
instinct.  We  went  to  Florence  for  our  honeymoon,  and 
we've  been  wandering  ever  since !  " 

Nigel  looked  quickly  aside  at  Marian.  She  was  again 
impressed  by  the  piercing  glance  of  his  eyes.  He  had  a 
very  lean  face,  and  his  eyes  were  its  most  noticeable 
feature. 

"  You've  taken  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  with  you,  Aunt 
Kathy,"  he  said,  gently. 

His  aunt  frowned,  puzzling  for  a  moment  at  the 
speech  and  at  Marian's  laughter. 

"Do  you  understand  it?"  she  demanded  of  Marian, 
but  with  a  twinkle. 


28  SEPTEMBER 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  looked  grimacingly  at  Nigel. 

"  It  passes  me  by,"  she  assured  him,  with  an  impudent 
and  reproving  nod.  "  Well,  now  .  .  .  How  are  you, 
and  how's  your  husband?  "  Her  glance  was  shrewd,  but 
not  unpleasant.  The  assurances  were  repeated.  "  And 
what's  he  gone  to  town  for?  When  Tom  goes  to  town,  I 
go  with  him.  Travelled,  indeed!"  She  gave  a  slight 
sound  that  was  almost  a  snort,  and  looked  inexpressibly 
good-humoured. 

"  She  does,"  said  her  husband.  "  She  does.  By  Jove, 
she  does,"  he  added,  to  himself. 

"  He'll  be  back  to-morrow,"  explained  Marian.  "  We 
shall  both  go  to  London  at  the  end  of  September,  for  two 
or  three  months." 

"September?"  said  Nigel,  sharply.  "I  shall  be  in 
London  then." 

iv 

"  This  boy's  a  Socialist,"  his  aunt,  explained,  later  in 
the  meal.  "  Beware  of  him,  my  dear.  Once  or  twice  he's 
almost  persuaded  me.  I've  had  to  send  him  to  Tom.  The 
worst  of  these  young  people  is  that  they're  so  hard.  They 
get  hold  of  a  few — call  them  facts,  if  you  like;  and 
hammer  you  with  them  as  if  there  was  nothing  in  life 
but  those  few  facts.  He  talks  about  slum-property  and 
employers  and  such  stuff,  as  though  life  wasn't  made  up 
of  all  sorts  of  things." 

"Oh,  but  Aunt  Kathy,  of  course  it  is!  Cream  and 
Geography  and  Religion   ..." 

"  Shoes  and  Ships  and  Sealing-wax ! "  commented  his 
aunt,  destroying  his  ingenuous  air  of  originality.  "  Yes, 
and  love  and  ambition  and  folly,  too.  It's  full  of  those 
things." 

They  all  turned  surprised  eyes  upon  her. 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  29 

"  That's  quite  true,  Aunt  Kathy,"  said  Nigel,  seriously. 
He  spoke  no  more  for  a  little  while.  Then,  when  they 
had  passed  to  other  matters,  he  showed  that  his  thoughts 
had  been  started  upon  a  journey  by  his  aunt's  speech,  and 
asked  Marian  in  a  deliberate  way  whether  she  was  inter- 
ested in  life  as  something  that  went  on  outside  one. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Marian  said,  rather  at  a  loss. 

"  I  am.  Tremendously.  Oh,  tremendously,"  he  ex- 
claimed with  zest.  "  I  shouldn't  think  you  could  ever  get 
to  know  about  everything  that  goes  on  outside;  but  it's 
splendid  to  try  to  grapple  with  it." 

Marian  thought  for  a  moment  over  this  eager  speech, 
reading  his  ardour  with  interest. 

"  And  not  inside  as  well?  "  she  asked,  falling  suddenly 
to  an  understanding  of  the  inquiry  he  had  made.  It  was 
the  thing  unseen  that  she  continually  dwelt  upon ;  but  she 
was  not  insensible  to  the  general  spectacle.  Somehow  her 
attention  had  been  caught  by  his  enthusiasm.  She  liked 
enthusiasm.  She  had  so  little  herself  that  it  acted  upon 
her  as  a  charm.  She  was  awakened,  amused  at  this  young 
mind  in  action,  already  rapidly  foreseeing  the  dangers 
that  such  impetuosity  as  he  revealed  would  provoke  in 
the  course  of  his  life.  He  seemed  to  her  young — young 
and  beautifully  ardent. 

"  Inside  ?  You  mean — one's  thoughts,  and  other 
people's  thoughts?  The  things  that  aren't  visible?  Oh, 
yes   ...     Is  that  what  you  like  in  Mrs.  Gupp?" 

"  When  one  leads  a  rather  stationary  life — I  suppose 
that's  it.  I  think  Mrs.  Gupp  lives  in  a  dream.  Poor 
thing!" 

"  That's  the  way  to  live !  "  cried  Nigel.  "  At  least,"  he 
added,  "  I  wish  I  could  live  in  a  dream.  Sometimes  I 
wish  that,  too.  It's  so  hard  to  catch  everything  and  live 
to  the  fullest." 

His  aunt  and  uncle  were  gazing  at  each  other. 


30  SEPTEMBER 

"  He's  been  in  the  sun,"  said  Tom  Sinclair. 

"  I've  never — no,  really,  my  dear,  I've  never  heard 
him  talk  like  this."  Nigel's  aunt  was  quite  vehemently 
apologetic  for  her  nephew's  lack  of  decorous  table  man- 
ners.   She  was  frankly  concerned. 

"  It's  very  nice,"  pleaded  Marian,  with  her  sympathy 
aroused. 

"  I  haven't  been  in  the  sun.  I  don't  talk  like  this. 
Mrs.  Forster,  please  forgive  me.  I  was — I  was  simply 
interested.  It  was  accidentally  something  I've  been 
worrying  about  for  weeks." 

"  We'll  talk  about  it  later,"  Marian  said.  "  Another 
time  when  these  wise  people  aren't  here."  And  to  her- 
self she  was  saying  "Twenty-six?  He  can't  be  more 
than  twenty-one.    .    .    .     He's  young." 

Nigel  turned  to  his  aunt. 

"  It  was  you  who  started  me  off,  Aunt  Kathy,"  he 
told  her,  candidly.  "  You  talked  about  love  and  ambition 
and  folly.  It  was  like  salt  on  my  tail.  When  I  think  of 
those  things  I  always  get  solemn,  because  I  want  to 
understand  them  so  much.  They're  instincts,  at  war  with 
every  kind  of  wisdom ;  and  they're  so  extraordinarily 
powerful.  They  get  in  the  way.  They're  such  compli- 
cations, you  know." 

"  Poor  lad !  "  observed  Tom  Sinclair,  his  withered  neck 
distorted  by  some  convulsion  in  his  throat  that  made  his 
protuberance  jerk  quickly.  "  They'll  be  getting  up  sub- 
scriptions for  him,  one  day." 


After  dinner  Nigel  played,  hiding  the  drawing-room's 
enormities  by  his  own  gift.  He  played  readily,  and  with 
taste.  Marian,  sitting  aside,  realised  quickly  that  some 
composers— -especially  those  composers  who  reflected 
mood  and  reverie  at  their  most  subtle — had  an  extraordi- 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  31 

nary  fascination  for  him.  He  played  one  study  of 
Debussy's  with  an  air  of  absorption  that  deeply  impressed 
her.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  the  sensitiveness  of  an 
artist,  not  yet  matured  into  the  artist's  peculiar  compre- 
hensions, and  strangely  crossed  by  the  abrupt  curiosities 
and  endless  questionings  of  a  child  as  yet  unformed. 
She  found  herself  watching  him  with  interest — almost 
with  apprehensiveness.  It  was  not  that  he  struck  her  as 
helpless,  or  as  weak  or  without  balance;  it  was  that 
she  felt  he  had  so  much  to  learn  before  he  should  be  fully 
developed.  And  as  she  thought  that,  Marian  became  self- 
reproving.  She  had  caught  herself  building  from  nothing 
all  sorts  of  suppositions — the  worst  form  of  day-dream- 
ing, because  it  may  end  in  a  fabric  of  unreality.  It  was 
nothing  at  all :  the  young  man  was  unknown  to  her :  she 
would  perhaps  never  see  him  again.  Strange  that  he 
should  so  have  awakened  her  interest !  It  was  his  youth 
that  had  done  that,  the  boyish  impetuosity  of  his  manner, 
the  revelation  of  a  temperament  contained  in  his  playing. 
She  watched  his  face  as  he  sat  at  the  piano,  reading  the 
sensitiveness  of  his  lips,  and  guessing  at  the  strange 
wisdoms  that  might  lurk  in  his  dark  eyes.  She  would 
have  given  much  to  have  had  children,  so  that  she  might 
thus  have  learnt  something  of  the  unknowable  in  human 
character. 

Then  Nigel  played  two  pieces  of  Chopin's — a  Fantasie 
Impromptu  and  the  exquisite  Ballade  in  A  flat, — and  for 
the  first  time  for  many  months  she  was  moved  beyond 
the  power  of  expression.  Not  alone  the  melancholy — 
the  loneliness — of  the  music,  nor  the  sadness  of  the 
memories  to  which  it  was  the  key;  but  a  quite  singular 
perception  that  through  all  emotion  there  runs  the  in- 
cessant current  of  bitter  unhappiness,  tinged  her  thoughts 
and  made  the  evening  a  poignant  experience.  It  passed 
in  a  dream.    Even  when  Nigel  was  not  playing,  the  music 


32  SEPTEMBER 

seemed  still  to  continue  in  her  heart,  awaking  there  the 
melodies  of  other  days,  when  her  heart  was  soft  and  her 
mind  virgin.  There  was  little  in  the  talk  that  intervened 
which  made  demands  upon  her  intricate  thoughts,  and 
those  few  sentences  exchanged  with  Nigel  at  dinner — at 
the  time  so  thin  and  yet  so  provocative  of  sentiment  there- 
after,— and  the  sense  of  her  understanding  of  his  playing, 
mingled  in  her  emotion  and  kept  the  general  impression 
unimpaired. 

"  It's  been  so  beautiful,"  she  said  to  him,  while  the 
Sinclairs  amicably  quarreled.  "  I  can  play,  but  never  to 
my  own  satisfaction.  It's  a  great  gift.  You  see  how 
silent  we've  been." 

Nigel  made  no  answer — only  gave  her  a  quick,  grate- 
ful look. 

"  He  plays  well,  doesn't  he !  "  asserted  his  aunt.  "  I 
don't  like  these  moony  things  much.  He  ought  to  have 
played  some  good  tunes,  like  '  Pomp  and  Circumstance.' 
However,  I  know  I'm  a  philistine." 

"  You  glory  in  it,  Aunt  Kathy!  "  Nigel  laughed. 

"  People  always  do."    Marian  could  not  resist  the  dig. 

"  It's  just  as  snobbish  as  the  aesthetic  cult,  really." 

The  others  looked  gravely  upon  this  badinage,  but 
not  unamiably;  and  it  became  clear  that  they  were  all 
going.  Wraps  were  found,  and  hands  shaken,  and  com- 
pliments made.  It  was  with  warm  eyes  of  liking,  that 
Marian  bade  farewell  to  her  new  friend.  He  seemed  to 
strike  a  note  in  her  that  had  been  unmoved  for  many 
years  and  that  now  vibrated  with  exquisite  sweetness. 
Her  voice  was  the  richer  for  the  evening's  experience. 
She  was  carried  to  the  heights  by  what  she  had  felt  and 
thought.  Nigel,  too,  was  elated;  but  by  her  sympathy, 
which  had  aroused  his  spirits  and  made  him  very  full  of 
eager  imaginings — not  by  any  knowledge  of  the  feeling 
he  had  created.    They  were  both  subtly  happy. 


NIGEL  SINCLAIR  33 

"  May  I  come  and  see  you?  "  he  asked.  "  Perhaps  in 
September.    I  should  so  much  like  to." 

"Of  course!  "  cried  Marian,  with  a  quick  glance  that 
embraced  all  her  visitors.  "  Long  before  then,  I  hope,  if 
you're  staying  in  the  neighbourhood.  We're  here  all  the 
time — until  September.  You  must  all  come.  I  should 
like  you,"  she  added  to  Nigel,  "  to  meet  my  husband." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  him,"  Nigel  cried.  His  voice 
carried  the  meaning  "  because  he's  your  husband."  His 
uncle  and  aunt  were  smiling  at  his  enthusiasm. 

They  all  went  out  at  the  front  door,  where  the  car  stood 
waiting  in  the  darkness.  The  moon  was  gone.  Only  the 
stars  lighted  the  sky,  and  a  swift  little  breeze  whipped 
among  the  leaves  and  stirred  them  to  a  low  whispering. 
The  night  air  was  full  of  scent,  as  fresh  and  sweet  as 
the  evening.  They  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence — Nigel 
and  she — side  by  side,  while  the  others  were  getting  into 
the  car. 

"  Lovely !  "  Marian  said  quickly. 

He  was  gone.  The  purring  of  the  car  grew  fainter. 
She  was  alone  in  the  garden  and  the  darkness,  her  face 
upturned.  Then  she  came  back  into  the  house,  rather 
bewildered  by  the  lights,  happy  and  amused.  It  had  been 
so  pleasant,  so  curiously  a  contact  with  some  kind  of 
reality  that  she  had  half-forgotten,  that  she  had  the  feel- 
ing of  being  brighter  and  more  alive  than  she  had  been 
for  many  days. 

"  I'm  quite  ...  I  hope  that  young  man  will  come 
soon  again,"  Marian  murmured  to  herself.  "  He  may  be 
very  inexperienced  in  some  ways ;  but  I  like  him  for  that 
as  much  as  anything  else.  He's  new.  Perhaps  he  won't 
come — till  September.  Oh,  then,  come  along,  Septem- 
ber ! '  She  paused  a  moment.  A  strange  thought  had 
come  into  her  mind.  "  September,"  she  said,  reflectively. 
"  I  suppose  that's  the  month  I'm  always  living  in,  now. 


M  SEPTEMBER 

My  summer's  coming  to  an  end,  too.  Oh,  don't  be  silly! 
I  do  hate  these  sentimental  applications.  They're  such 
.  .  .  such  rubbish!  Oh,  but  I  wish  I  didn't  feel  as 
though  I  were  so  set,  so  uneager.    So  tired  ..." 

Mechanically,  she  sat  down  at  the  piano.  Her  hands 
lay  gently  upon  the  keys.  She  was  going  back  to  days 
so  very  long  ago,  with  a  breathless  intensity  that  be- 
tokened the  strength  of  her  recollection.  With  every 
year  that  passes,  memories  grow  more  real  and  more 
pervasive. 


CHAPTER  III:  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  CHERRY 


WHEN  the  next  day  came  Marian  thought  of 
Howard  while  she  still  lay  in  bed  after  her  early 
cup  of  tea.  Blanche  had  drawn  the  curtains,  and  the 
morning  breeze  and  the  early  sunshine  were  both  in  the 
room,  reminding  Marian  of  her  duties.  She  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  get  up,  but  lay  in  bed  with  her  head  propped 
against  the  pillows  and  her  hands  resting  upon  the  cover- 
let. The  pleasure  of  her  party  was  still  warming  her 
heart,  and  from  time  to  time  she  was  smiling  faintly. 
And  then  the  thought  of  Howard  came,  and  she  won- 
dered where  he  was,  and  what  he  was  doing.  A  half 
expectation  formed  in  her  mind  that  he  would  write  or 
telegraph  delaying  his  return,  and  her  smile  for  the  first 
time  grew  rather  contemptuous.  The  mood  of  happy  in- 
dolence was  spoilt.  Her  heart  was  suddenly  sore.  She 
stepped  impulsively  out  of  bed  and  sat  there  with  her 
white  feet  resting  in  the  thick  warmth  of  the  sun-touched 
rug.  In  her  nightdress  she  looked  like  a  young  girl,  so 
gentle  was  the  curve  of  her  neck  and  so  slim  her  figure. 
But  her  eyes  were  old  this  morning,  and  the  sunlight 
cruelly  revealed  the  lines  about  them,  and  small  lines 
about  her  mouth  and  below  her  throat.  At  last  she  put 
on  slippers  and  her  dressing-gown,  and  went  across  to 
the  bathroom. 

Still  Marian  thought  of  Howard.  He  had  been  the 
only  man  for  her  fifteen  years  before ;  and  there  had 
never  been  another  since.     It  was  not  that  she  was  un- 

35 


36  SEPTEMBER 

attractive  or  that  her  nature  was  cold,  but  simply  that 
she  did  not  like  playing  with  fire,  as  some  silly  women 
do,  long  after  the  days  for  playing  with  fire  have  had  any 
heat  in  them  to  kindle  noble  flame.  So  when  Marian 
thought  of  Howard  it  was  as  her  lover  and  her  husband, 
with  whose  life  her  own  being  had  been  for  so  long 
bound  up.  It  still  seemed  to  her  peculiar  that  a  single 
accidental  remark  should  have  provoked  that  sudden  in- 
tuition about  him.  On  all  previous  occasions  there  had 
been  steps  in  her  knowledge.  She  could  not  help  feeling 
sure,  even  while  she  demolished  her  own  intuition;  and 
the  sureness  revived  a  shuddering  distaste  for  Howard 
that  she  had  only  felt  about  a  dozen  times  in  her  life. 
There  had  been  times  when  she  could  not  bear  his  pres- 
ence, let  alone  his  touch.  It  was  as  though  some  over- 
whelming arrogance  of  virtue  had  come  upon  her  this 
morning,  and  she  already  felt  the  approach  of  this  secret 
horror  of  him.  It  was  not  a  moral  horror,  but  a  sense 
of  physical  repulsion,  of  contempt.  She  strove  to  check 
it,  realising  that  life  would  be  insupportable  if  once  she 
lost  grip  upon  herself. 

So  breakfast-time  came,  and  the  post.  Marian  sought 
hastily  for  a  letter  from  Howard.  There  was  none. 
Then  it  would  be  a  wire,  perhaps  ?  She  opened  the  first 
letter.  It  was  from  Alice  Mant,  written  evidently  late 
on  Tuesday,  and  posted  the  day  before. 

"  My  dearest  Marian.  Howard  came  here  to  dinner 
to-night,  and  gave  your  kind  invitation  to  Cherry  and 
Robert.  Of  course  they're  both  wild  to  come!  It's 
too  good  of  you;  but  I'm  sure  you'll  take  the  privilege 
of  an  old  friend  if  they're  a  nuisance  and  tell  me.  Then 
I'll  send  for  them  home.  It  will  really  be  a  boon  to  me 
to  have  them  away.  Let  me  know  what  you  think  of 
Cherry.  I  can't  understand  her.  She's  beyond  me,  and 
that's  the  truth,  my  dear.  As  for  Robert,  I  never  pre- 
tended to  understand  that  boy,  did  I?     I  never  knew 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  CHERRY  37 

what  it  felt  like  to  be  '  all  at  sea '  until  the  last  couple 
of  months;  but  these  two  children  of  mine  are  the  most 
extraordinary  pair  I've  ever  come  across.  I'm  really 
frightened,  sometimes,  when  I  look  at  them.  They're 
so  unlike  Tom  and  me.  They're  so  hard.  That's  what 
it  is.  They're  hard.  There  is  a  sort  of  callousness  about 
them  that  gives  me  a  lot  of  pain.  I  know  you  think  I'm 
a  muddler,  and  I  admit  that  you  can  manage  Robert !  but 
if  you  can  manage  Cherry  you'll  be  doing  the  girl  (and 
her  mother)  a  kindness.  Marian,  my  dear,  I  trouble  you 
with  my  worries  because  there  is  nobody  who  understands 
as  well  as  you  do.  You  are  so  sympathetic — or  you  seem 
to  be,  and  I  expect  that  is  the  same  thing,  because  ..." 
When  Alice  wandered  off  into  psychology,  Marian's 
attention  failed.  She  put  the  letter  back  into  its  envelope, 
and  turned  to  its  fellows.  So  Cherry  and  Robert  were 
both  coming.  And  they  were  out  of  hand.  Marian  did 
not  think  very  highly  of  Alice  Mant  as  a  mother.  She 
was  not  capable  of  taking  more  than  a  pass  degree  in 
motherhood.  She  lacked  the  first  requisite — imagina- 
tion. Marian  had  it.  She  was  not  sympathetic  in  the 
sense  of  abandoning  all  self-respect  for  the  sake  of  one  in 
,:  distress ;  but  she  had  imagination,  which  will  always  ob- 
tain for  its  possessor  a  reputation  for  sympathy  and  a 
sufficient  number  of  suitors  for  aid.  Cherry  and  Robert! 
Her  hands  would  be  full !  Perhaps  their  presence  would 
distract  Howard :  certainly  it  would  ease  the  situation. 
She  felt  appreciably  more  cheerful  about  the  immediate 
future.  When  were  they  coming?  How  like  Alice! 
Not  a  word  in  the  letter  to  say ! 

An  hour  later  the  expected  telegram  from  Howard 
arrived.  Marian  smiled  drily  at  its  appearance ;  but  the 
message  itself  was  unexpected.    It  ran : 

"  SEND  CAR  MEET  SEVEN-THIRTY  BRINGING  MANT 
CHILDREN     HOWARD." 


38  SEPTEMBER 

"To-day!"  said  Marian  aloud.  "That's  quick- 
work  .  .  .  Oh,  of  course  he  was  there  on  Tuesday 
..."  She  was  instantly  alert,  planning  bedrooms 
and  arranging  in  her  mind  the  necessary  accommodation 
for  her  guests. 

«  • 

11 

The  evening  came.  She  gave  instructions  for  the  car 
to  go  to  the  station,  and  heard  it  start  in  good  time  to 
meet  the  train  by  which  her  young  visitors  were  travel- 
ling. Then  she  inspected  the  bedrooms  and  saw  that 
they  lacked  nothing.  That  done,  she  went  down  to  the 
drawing-room,  to  await  the  car's  return.  It  was  then 
that  her  eye  caught  the  journal  in  which  appeared  that 
advertisement  of  Tee-to-tum  cigarettes.  In  a  panic,  she 
laid  it  at  the  bottom  of  a  pile  of  papers,  smiling  at  her 
own  sense  of  eavesdropping,  and  lightly  pressing  the  pile, 
as  if,  like  a  conjurer,  she  could  dismiss  the  offending 
paper  altogether. 

"  Wlwt  a  beastly  room  this  is !  "  she  thought,  im- 
pulsively. "  And  what  a  lazy  person  I  must  have  been 
all  these  years  to  endure  it!"  The  thought  was  suf- 
ficiently depressing.  "  I  have  endured  it.  I  wonder  why. 
It's  a  problem."  She  could  not  understand  her  own 
lethargy.  It  seemed  inexcusable.  Marian  had  suddenly 
an  uncomfortable  vision  of  herself  as  a  woman  too  lost 
in  the  details  of  the  day — perhaps  in  the  meanderings  of 
her  own  mind — to  attain  a  personal  reality.  It  was  hor- 
rible to  have  such  a  thought.  She  felt  that  perhaps  after 
all  she  was  a  mere  onlooker  at  life,  unable  even  to  make 
her  presence  felt  in  the  arrangement  of  her  own  drawing- 
room.  Yet  the  drawing-room,  if  she  could  have  seen  it  in 
that  light,  was  a  picture  of  her  marriage — full  of  incon- 
gruities and  legacies  and  a  na'ive  ugliness.  It  was  neither 
her  room  nor  Howard's,  but  a  room  they  both  used  by 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  CHERRY  39 

courtesy  of  Howard's  dead  ancestors  and  perhaps  of  her 
own. 

The  car  was  whirring  at  the  door,  and  in  the  moonlight 
she  saw  silhouetted  three  figures — those  of  Howard, 
Robert,  and  Cherry.  She  stood  in  the  porch  to  receive 
them. 

iii 

Robert,  in  a  business-like  way,  attended  manfully  to 
the  luggage  inside  the  car,  while  Cherry  stepped  from  her 
place  by  his  side  to  the  house-door.  In  the  moonlight 
Marian  saw  that  she  carried  herself  well,  that  she  was 
tall  and  slim,  and  that  her  air  was  one  of  mingled  timidity 
and  assurance.  As  they  had  kissed  before,  so  they  kissed 
now,  but  without  any  suggestion  of  real  caress.  Marian 
drew  the  girl  into  the  house,  and  looked  quickly  at  her 
in  the  strong  light  of  the  hall,  scrutinising  the  fresh 
young  face  and  the  veiled  eyes.  Cherry's  eyes  were  quite 
cold  at  this  moment.  They  were  wide  open,  clear  and 
unreadable,  blue  eyes  without  a  stain  of  sin  and  without 
a  trace  of  trustfulness.  Her  brow  was  clear,  her  nose 
very  straight,  her  mouth  bafflingly  the  mouth  of  a  child. 
Marian,  scrutinising  so  quickly,  received  something  of 
a  shock.  She  had  hitherto  discounted  Alice's  complaints, 
as  the  cries  of  a  weak  woman  incapable  of  dealing  with 
a  growing  nature ;  but  she  did  so  no  longer.  Obstinacy, 
charm,  and  a  sort  of  wanton  determination  were  to  be 
read  in  the  flower-like  face.  Clearly,  Cherry's  was  no 
easily-grasped  and  easily-dominated  character.  Even  in 
the  moment  of  shock,  Marian  was  conscious  of  a  sudden, 
genuine  out-going  of  interest  in  the  young  visitor.  She 
was  not  a  commonplace  girl,  whatever  might  be  the  diffi- 
culties of  her  stubborn  nature.  A  quick  spark  in  Marian's 
heart  took  fire.  She  could  not  see  the  future;  but  she 
was  conscious  of  contact  with  personality  not  inferior  in 


40  SEPTEMBER 

strength  to  her  own.  Words  of  more  than  conventional 
greeting  were  forced  to  her  lips. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  said.  "  I  want  you  to  be 
happy  here." 

Cherry  looked  back  at  her,  not  trustingly,  not  sus- 
piciously, but  with  an  obviously  examining  glance,  pro- 
longed an  instant  more  than  politeness  would  have 
justified — prolonged  sufficiently  to  be  on  the  verge  of 
impertinence.    She  smiled  faintly. 

Marian  thought :  "  Why  does  she  dislike  me  ?  "  Then, 
hastily,  seeing  that  it  was  not  dislike,  but  a  sort  of  meas- 
uring interest,  that  lay  in  Cherry's  face,  she  put  that 
thought  quickly  aside.  Instead,  she  realised  that  to  win 
this  girl's  confidence  would  be  a  task  of  difficulty.  It 
was  over  in  an  instant,  this  exchange  of  impressions ;  and 
Howard  and  Robert  had  followed  them  into  the  house. 
All  four  stood  under  the  electric  light  for  a  few  seconds. 
Decidedly,  of  the  three  faces  presented  to  her,  Marian 
liked  best  that  of  Robert,  whose  affection  she  knew  to  be 
hers.    He  took  her  arm  with  a  cheerful  air  of  liking. 

"  I  say,  how  ripping  it  is!  "  he  cried.  "  I'm  so  jolly 
glad  to  be  here." 

As  Cherry  turned  away,  Marian  saw  almost  with  a 
pang  how  graceful  she  was,  and  how  well  she  walked.  In 
the  light  her  fair  hair  seemed  powdered  with  gold.  She 
was  lovely.  But  the  interest  aroused  in  Marian's  mind 
was  not  warmed  by  any  sense  of  happy  confidence. 
Already  she  felt  constrained  under  the  glance  of  her 
young  guest.  The  girl,  it  seemed  to  Marian,  was  one 
to  play  for  her  own  hand;  and  in  such  play  she  would 
perhaps  be  ruthless.  All  the  same,  Marian  did  not  dislike 
her.    She  merely  felt  it  necessary  to  be  upon  her  guard. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  CHERRY  41 

iv 

Yet  it  was  something,  also,  to  have  aroused  in  her  the 
sense  of  that  necessity.  Marian  did  not  often  feel  that 
she  must  be  upon  her  guard.  She  was  naturally  so  re- 
served that  there  was  no  conscious  disguise  in  her  manner. 
She  was  accustomed  to  go  coolly  through  all  her  relations 
with  others,  living  a  very  quiet  inner  life,  but  never  the 
elaborate  diplomat  which  some  Machiavellian  writers 
upon  conduct  suppose  every  human  being  of  character  to 
be.  What  Cherry  gave  her  was  the  sense  of  being  un- 
amenable to  the  ordinary  laws  of  polite  intercourse.  She 
was  not  well-bred  :  her  defiances  and  her  judgments  were 
still  ostentatious,  as  one  would  expect  from  a  young  girl. 
What  was  disquieting  was  the  fear  that  they  were  pos- 
sibly being  confirmed  by  a  natural  selfishness  which  led 
her  hastily  to  penetrate  inferiority  and  to  exploit  it  and  to 
derive  satisfaction  from  the  sense  of  power  over  it.  And 
yet,  as  Marian  instantly  realised,  all  such  terms  were 
much  too  hard,  and  were,  moreover,  the  fruit  of  some 
instinctive  hostility — the  knowledge  that  Cherry  was  not 
merely  not  malleable,  but  that  she  was  definitely  perverse. 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  like  her,"  Marian  thought. 
"  No  .  .  .  What  Alice  says  is  quite  true.  She's  hard. 
But  I'd  like  to  understand  her.  If  she's  hard,  perhaps 
it's  because  she's  mistrustful.  Perhaps  .  .  .  per- 
haps ..."  She  did  not  finish  her  thought.  She  came 
back  to  her  attitude  of  detachment,  and  was  not  aware 
that  the  detachment  was  not  quite  perfect.  It  was  not 
quite  perfect  because  Marian  was  in  a  mood  to  be  sensi- 
tive. Where  young  Nigel  Sinclair  had  seemed  to  her  so 
cordial,  and  so  candid,  Cherry  was  baffling.  She  was 
sufficiently  a  woman  to  arouse  something  like  jealousy, 
and  still  so  evidently  a  child  as  to  suggest  most  attractive 
immaturity.     It  would  be  lovely  to  have  a  daughter  like 


42  SEPTEMBER 

that — lovely,  and  fascinating,  and  heart-rending.  She 
was  less  mysterious  than  baffling.  Yes,  she  was  ill-bred. 
Marian  was  decided  upon  that  point.  She  was  ill-bred 
because  she  did  not  accommodate  herself  superficially  to 
others.  She  watched  them.  She  scrutinised  them,  mak- 
ing obvious  comparisons.  She  was  conceited,  hard,  sel- 
fish .  .  .  and  all  the  time  she  was  real  and  lovable. 
She  was  immediately  seen  to  be  more  real  and  more 
lovable  than  any  girl  in  all  this  country  district.  Marian 
was  torn.  She  drew  a  deep  breath,  anticipating  battle. 
Her  mouth  set  a  little.  If  Cherry  was  conscious  of 
superiority,  so  was  Marian,  when  that  superiority  was 
challenged.  She  was  kinder,  because  she  was  older.  But 
she  knew  that  if  Cherry  was  the  more  callous,  with  the 
callousness  of  childhood,  she  herself  was  more  cold,  with 
the  balanced  self-control  of  the  mature  woman.  If 
Cherry  made  the  mistake  of  under-rating  Marian,  she 
would  find  that  Marian  too  had  her  quality. 

All  this  passed  in  Marian's  mind  while  the  travellers 
were  preparing  for  dinner.  She  looked  perhaps  not  quite 
in  vain  for  some  sign  of  curiosity  from  Cherry.  It  came. 
Cherry  swiftly  contrasted  their  evening  gowns.  Her  eye 
rose,  higher,  higher,  like  the  fleet  darting  of  the  eager 
swallow.  It  was  gone  in  an  instant.  Marian  had  a 
sudden  sense  of  power. 

"  She's  only  a  child !  "  she  thought,  her  mind  as  quick 
as  Cherry's  glance.  Impulsively  she  took  the  girl's  arm 
as  they  went  together  towards  the  door.    "  Poor  child !  " 


CHAPTER  IV:  AFTER  DINNER 


DURING  the  whole  of  the  meal  that  curious  inter- 
change of  examination  persisted.  With  Marian  it 
was  unobtrusive,  because  she  had  naturally  acquired 
through  long  habit  the  ability  to  observe  without  seeming 
to  do  so.  Cherry  had  still  to  look  at  what  she  wanted 
to  see.  She  was  almost  quick  enough  to  avoid  giving  the 
impression  that  she  stared;  but  she  was  still  too  slow 
to  hide  her  interest  and  her  jealousy.  She  wanted,  it 
was  evident,  to  know  what  Marian  thought  of  her;  and 
was  piqued  at  being  able  to  discover  nothing.  The  pique 
showed  in  a  slight  brusqueness.  She  did  not  make  her- 
self agreeable,  because  she  was  not  at  ease.  That  in- 
volved her  in  silences.  Evidently  she  did  not  talk  well, 
unless  she  was  the  centre  of  the  party.  With  all  eyes 
upon  her,  perhaps,  in  uncritical  admiration  of  her  charm, 
she  would  have  shone  like  a  wayward  star.  But  she  did 
not  talk  well  upon  general  topics.  She  was  too  used  to 
a  success  founded  upon  her  superficial  presence.  She 
was,  even,  too  reliant  upon  her  power  to  please;  so  that 
if  that  were  denied,  or  questioned,  she  fell  back  into  a 
flat  discontent.  All  this  Marian  gathered  by  means  of 
genuine  observation,  which  is  a  different  thing  from  an 
enumeration  of  points.  That  was  the  advantage  which 
her  years  gave.  None  the  less  she  watched  the  instinc- 
tive grace  of  Cherry's  movements,  the  little  unconscious 
and  impulsive  starts  and  responses  produced  by  various 
passages  in  the  talk,  with  something  like  a  pang  of  envy. 
No  longer  had  Marian  this  naive,  this  delightful  grace. 

43 


44  SEPTEMBER 

It  was  the  priceless  possession  of  youth,  like  the  sudden 
gay  laugh  that  came  so  infectiously  from  that  tempting 
mouth,  and  that  shone  in  those  expressive  eyes.  With 
every  moment  Marian  was  aware  of  the  girl's  personality, 
her  tenacity,  her  selfishness,  her  innocence,  her  sophisti- 
cated and  troublesome  self-consciousness.  Really,  the 
child  was  a  puzzle!  At  one  minute  she  seemed  wholly 
fresh  and  beautiful,  like  a  modest  flower;  at  another  she 
was  a  secret  and  viciously  alert  woman  with  ten  times 
Marian's  experience  of  baseness;  at  another  still  she  was 
a  self-indulgent  baby,  callous  through  thoughtlessness, 
but  not  the  less  attractive  upon  that  account,  even  to 
Marian.  She  was  troublesomely  baffling!  The  pains 
she  took  to  be  mysterious  were  the  least  baffling  thing 
about  her,  and  the  youngest.  She  was  in  love  with  her- 
self, and  easily  wounded  by  the  least  doubt  of  her  own 
power.  She  was  wounded  now  by  her  inability  to  domi- 
nate Marian.  She  addressed  herself  almost  exclusively 
to  Howard. 

Marian  was  so  occupied  with  Cherry  that  she  could 
not  think  of  Howard.  She  only  felt  that  he  was  being 
amusing,  and  making  them  all  laugh,  as  he  had  always 
been  able  to  do,  as  long  as  she  could  remember.  He  sat 
opposite  to  Marian,  his  eyes  twinkling,  and  his  thick  laugh 
baying  in  among  the  general  laughter.  His  face  was  red, 
but  it  was  a  fresh  redness,  and  they  all  looked  happy  and 
in  good  health,  so  that  the  party  was  a  pleasure  to  the 
eye. 

u 

The  party  was  also  a  party  well-satisfied  with  its  fare. 
The  dinner  was  good,  and  the  service.  Knowing  the 
Mant  household,  and  Alice  Mant's  shortcomings  as  a 
housekeeper,  Marian  knew  well  that  if  Cherry  had  per- 
ceptions of  such  things,  as  she  supposed,  the  management 


AFTER  DINNER  45 

of  the  house  would  establish  in  the  girl's  mind  a  sense 
of  her  own  competence.  The  table  was  beautifully  set, 
the  details  of  the  meal  perfect.  Order  was  in  everything, 
and  yet  not  so  elaborately  there  as  to  be  obtrusive. 
Already,  Marian  was  paying  Cherry  the  tribute  of  be- 
lieving that  she  could  appreciate  the  causes  of  efficiency 
in  house-running.  She  was  only  ruffled  when  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  her  that  she  set  store  by  Cherry's  opinion. 
The  knowledge  was  piquing  and  humiliating.  She  could 
have  given  a  little  chagrined  laugh  if  she  had  been  alone. 

Meanwhile  Howard,  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  was 
romancing. 

"  The  porter  who  had  to  carry  Cherry's  luggage  was 
bent  double,"  he  was  explaining.  "  He  looked  at  the 
trunks " 

"  The  one  portmanteau,"  Cherry  corrected,  laughing. 

"  He  looked  at  me.     He  said  '  All  these/  " 

"  He  said  '  This  all? '  "  Cherry  explained. 

"  And  with  a  groan  he  staggered  along  the  platform." 

"He  was  a  little  bent;  but  that  was  rheumatism." 

It  amused  Marian  to  find  that  Cherry's  little  birdlike 
glances  in  her  direction  revealed  anxiety  to  please  and  to 
impress.  The  girl  was  perturbed  at  Howard's  exag- 
gerations. 

"  Cherry  always  has  a  lot  of  things,"  asserted  Robert, 
ruthlessly.  "  She  has  to  have  a  different  dress  for  each 
day." 

"  Robert,  that's  not  true.  You've  no  business  to  say 
it."  A  sharpness  had  come  into  Cherry's  voice.  She 
looked  with  quick  anger  at  her  brother. 

"  You  know  how  long  she  means  to  stay  if  you  find 
out " 

"Robert!" 

"  I'm  sure  there  won't  be  enough  dresses  if  you  stay  as 
long  as  we  hope,"  Marian  said.     "  But  I'd  like  to  see  all 


46  SEPTEMBER 

you've  brought.  Living  in  the  country  all  the  summer 
makes  one  enjoy  other  people's  dresses  with  a  kind  of 
fury.  You  mustn't  take  any  notice  of  these  envious  men, 
Cherry." 

"  I  don't."    Cherry's  retort  was  brief. 

"  I  must  admit  the  porter  found  us  an  empty  first," 
supplemented  Howard. 

"  He  bowed  more  than  ever  at  his  tip,"  explained 
Robert.  "  He  was  a  very  old  porter.  I  should  think  he 
was  a  hundred.  Auntie,  I've  brought  two  suits  beside  this 
business."  He  indicated  his  black  clothes  with  an  air  of 
distaste.    "  Which  will  you  have  first  ?  " 

"The  pepper-and-salt  or  the  salt-and-pepper?  "  cried 
Cherry,  scornfully.  Her  eyes  were  bright.  She  turned 
triumphantly — not  to  Marian,  but  to  Howard.  She  kept 
her  eyes  on  him  for  a  moment,  and  as  she  turned  away 
Marian  caught  their  lustre.  She  smiled  a  little  drily, 
seeing  that  Cherry  was  more  at  ease  with  men  than  with 
women.  And  even  as  Marian  was  thinking  this,  Cherry 
glanced  swiftly  in  her  direction.  The  glance  was  an 
extraordinary  one.  It  was  for  the  first  time  suspicious, 
almost  furtive ;  and  it  was  as  instantly  averted.  It  gave 
Marian  a  most  disagreeable  impression. 

"  I  don't  believe  she's  straight,"  came  the  hurried 
thought.  "  She's  got  something  to  conceal.  How 
strange ! " 

•  •  • 

111 

Another  thing  Marian  did  not  like  was  that  Cherry  had 
her  wine-glass  filled  more  than  once.  It  seemed  as  though 
her  palate  were  jaded — as  though,  for  fear  of  dulness, 
she  sought  stimulant  for  the  sake  of  excitement.  This 
she  did  quite  unconsciously,  however,  so  that  Marian 
could  only  suppose  her  to  be  in  the  habit  of  drinking  more 
than  the  girls  in  that  district  were  apt  to  do.     It  was  a 


AFTER  DINNER  47 

small  thing  to  notice ;  but  Marian  was  noticing  everything 
that  Cherry  did,  observing  and  recording,  in  order  to 
attain  something  like  a  comprehension  of  the  girl's  char- 
acter. Some  of  her  ways  accorded  so  ill  with  the  flower- 
like face  and  the  almost  bewitching  expression  of  in- 
nocence which  at  times  it  wore  that  Marian  was  checked 
again  and  again.  Cherry's  moods  appeared  to  change 
each  instant,  and  her  expression  and  character  along  with 
them. 

All  left  the  table  together.  Cherry  smoked  one  of 
Howard's  cigarettes,  which  he  offered  quite  naturally 
to  her.  She  also  took  a  second.  Marian  noticed  that 
she  smoked  without  any  of  the  awkwardness  common 
to  girls  who  handled  rare  cigarettes.  And  yet,  however 
much  Marian  may  have  wished  to  disapprove,  she  found 
herself  watching  Cherry  with  a  curious  secret  admiration. 
She  even  sighed.  Again  the  longing  had  come  to  her  for 
a  daughter  with  just  such  personality  as  this,  disciplined 
as  it  might  have  been  by  an  upbringing  of  greater  care. 

They  went  back  into  the  drawing-room,  and  the  air 
was  still  light,  the  sky  very  clear,  and  a  faint  breeze 
stirring.  The  evening  so  invited  them  that  they  all 
strolled  a  little  in  the  garden,  wandering  down  by  the 
edges  of  the  lawns  and  under  the  pergolas  covered  with 
climbing  roses  and  along  to  the  edge  of  a  small  wood 
that  bordered  one  end  of  the  garden.  For  a  time  Marian 
and  Cherry  were  together,  but  only  for  a  time ;  and  when 
they  had  grouped  to  look  at  some  evening  primrose  it  fell 
out  that  Robert  took  Marian's  arm  and  the  other  two 
became  lost  to  view. 

Robert — a  youth  of  seventeen  or  so — was  full  of 
stories  of  what  he  had  planned  to  do  during  his  long 
summer-holidays,  which  had  just  begun.  He  was  to  go 
away  at  the  end  of  the  holidays  to  the  home  of  a  school 
chum,  and  was  artlessly  eager  that  his  stay  with  the 


48  SEPTEMBER 

Forsters  should  be  long  and  crowded.  Bird's-nesting, 
chemicals,  botany,  stamps,  bicycle  rides,  tennis,  walks — 
these  were  only  a  few  of  his  desired  employments.  He 
talked  quickly,  voluminously,  because  he  knew  and  loved 
Marian.  The  time  ran  by,  and  the  darkness  became 
greater;  and  at  last  Marian  turned  back  towards  the 
house.    It  was  ten  o'clock.    The  others  were  still  out. 

"Good  night,  auntie,"  Robert  said,  and  gave  her  a 
rapid  hug  before  disappearing.  She  was  left  alone  in 
the  drawing-room,  waiting. 

iv 

It  was  twenty  minutes  later  before  Cherry  and  Howard 
came  in.  Cherry's  dress  was  to  be  seen  before  they  ar- 
rived ;  and  to  Marian,  sitting  near  the  window,  but  in  the 
shadow,  it  seemed  as  though  the  girl  was  holding 
Howard's  arm.  They  walked  quickly,  hurrying,  as 
though  a  sense  of  the  hour's  lateness  had  come  suddenly 
upon  them,  and  drew  apart  as  they  neared  the  house. 
Marian  rose  and  went  to  the  open  French  windows  to 
meet  them. 

"It's  very  tempting,  isn't  it?"  she  said  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  smiled  at  both.  "  Robert's  gone  to  bed.  I  think 
he  was  tired  out." 

"  Oh,  so  am  I !  "  cried  Cherry,  in  an  exhausted  voice, 
and  sat  abruptly  in  a  chair.  As  Howard  came  in,  hum- 
ming, he  turned  and  made  fast  the  windows,  and  switched 
a  curtain  across  them;  but  Marian,  looking  down  at 
Cherry's  face,  was  astonished  to  find  the  girl's  eyes  bright 
with  tears,  and  her  lips  parted. 


CHAPTER  V:  CHERRY  IN  THE  MORNING 


A  FEW  minutes  later  they  all  went  to  bed ;  and  in  the 
■*  *■  hall's  semi-darkness  Marian  could  no  longer  see 
Cherry's  face  with  its  curious  exalted  expression  that  was 
between  joy  and  sorrow.  She  brooded  upon  the  girl  as 
she  undressed;  and  as  she  brushed  her  hair  she  several 
times  paused  to  con  over  this  strange  problem  of  char- 
acter as  it  was  presented  by  her  young  visitor.  She  could 
not  deny  that  she  was  profoundly  interested.  Her  mind 
went  searching  for  explanation  of  the  tear-brilliant  eyes 
and  found  none.  There  was  so  much  she  did  not  know. 
She  wanted  more  keenly  to  understand  Cherry  than  she 
had  wanted  anything  for  many  years,  because  the  con- 
trasts, so  violent,  so  inexplicable,  intrigued  her.  No,  she 
had  no  clue.  The  child's  radiant  eyes  haunted  her  long 
after  she  had  blown  out  the  candle,  and  while  she  lay 
waiting  for  sleep.  She  saw  again  Cherry's  lovely  little 
face,  the  ease  of  movement  that  betokened  self-confi- 
dence, the  look  that  was  almost  a  stare  at  herself,  the 
urgent,  half -angry  expression  that  had  greeted  the  teasing 
of  Howard  and  Robert.  Clearly  the  girl  was  sensitive, 
and  took  herself  very  seriously.  The  suppressed  eager- 
ness to  know  what  Marian's  attitude  was  to  her  dress,  to 
herself;  her  air  of  attentive  listening;  her  elaborate  non- 
chalance; all  of  them  were  a  part  of  some  secret  unease. 
Below  that  might  lurk  deliberateness,  a  callous  pursuit  of 
her  own  ends;  or  she  might  be  the  merely  ingenuous 
child  that  other  attitudes  had  suggested.     She  might  be 

49 


50  SEPTEMBER 

all  sorts  of  things  that  Marian  could  only  dimly  guess. 
How  strange  it  was  to  be  thus  eager!  Marian  felt  the 
little  pucker  come  into  her  brows.  She  turned  restlessly. 
Then  her  hand  went  quickly  to  her  firm  throat,  feeling 
its  outline.  A  faint  warmth  came  to  her  cheeks.  In  the 
darkness  her  eyes  were  smiling,  but  with  a  smile  that  lay 
deep  in  sad  understanding  of  life.  Again  she  turned; 
again  that  impulsive  speech  came  to  her  lips,  as  it  had 
done  earlier,  abruptly  completing  her  rapid  assessment 
of  Cherry's  characteristics. 

"  Poor  child !  " 

If  this  girl  could  once  know  what  power  for  love 
Marian  had,  how  warm  and  cordial  was  her  instinct  to 
give  endlessly  and  with  enduring  sympathy.  If  she  knew, 
too,  what  capacity  for  coldness,  for  cruel  punishment  of 
transgression,  lay  also  in  the  enigmatic  heart  of  this  older 
woman,  so  experienced  in  painful  knowledge  of  the  soul's 
secrets !  The  smile  stole  to  Marian's  lips,  which  were 
gravely  and  tenderly  parted.  Marian  had  no  need  to 
speak,  to  tell ;  she  had  so  much  self-control  that  she  could 
hardly  yield  to  the  strength  of  her  own  emotions.  Her 
cool  perceptions  chilled  even  her  own  inclinations  to  love 
and  to  surrender  to  love.  And  her  love  was  so  un- 
troubled that  she  had  as  yet  no  fear  of  its  power  over  her 
will. 

"  Poor  child.  Poor  child.  So  sure  of  herself,  so 
unsure,  so  clear-sighted,  so  blind,  so  all-curious,  so  timid, 
so  ignorant   ..." 

Long  afterwards  Marian  lay  awake,  half-dreaming  of 
Cherry,  inexhaustibly  speculating. 

11 

In  the  morning  she  dressed  with  her  usual  scrupulous 
care,  again  in  pale  grey,  and  was  first  downstairs,  as  cool 
and  as  much  mistress  of  herself  as  if  she  had  not  been 


CHERRY  IN  THE  MORNING  51 

engaged  in  this  complexity  of  apprehension.  Cherry  was 
the  next  comer,  dressed  in  a  beautifully  simple  gown  of 
pure  daffodil  yellow.  She  was  so  charming,  that  Marian 
drew  a  long  breath.  The  pink  cheeks,  the  gay  manner, 
the  clear  eyes,  of  her  new  puzzle  were  a  tantalising  delight 
to  her.  Cherry  was  radiant,  and  as  fresh  as  the  morning, 
from  which  the  light  mist  was  rising  under  the  sun's  rays. 
She  came  quickly  into  the  room,  stopping  short  at  the 
sight  of  Marian,  half  embarrassed. 

"How  lovely  it  is!  "  she  cried,  in  a  wondering  sense 
of  the  morning's  beauty.  They  did  not  kiss;  but  ex- 
changed a  glance  that  fled  as  soon  as  it  was  levelled. 
Only  Cherry  glanced  again,  as  a  lover  will  quickly  kiss  a 
second  time  when  the  first  kiss  has  been  so  sweet.  And 
Marian  knew. 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  roses,"  she  said,  with  her  spirits 
mounting.  '  We're  both  so  early.  I'll  show  you  an 
arbour  where  it's  always  cool.  And  where  there  are  no 
spiders;  but  only  cushions.  A  lovely  place.  Nobody 
goes  there.  Come  along."  They  were  quickly  out  of 
doors.  "If  you  want  to  read,  or  to  get  away  from  the 
heat,  the  arbour's  the  most  delicious  place  in  the  world. 
Only  a  stream  could  make  it  more  beautiful  ..." 
There  was  a  silence  as  they  walked  across  the  first  lawn 
and  felt  the  morning  sun  upon  their  cheeks.  Their  steps 
were  uniform;  both  walked  so  easily  that  they  kept  pace 
by  instinct.  Marian  went  on,  "  I  want  you  to  feel  that 
you're  quite  altogether  at  home  here.  I  know  how  horrid 
it  is  to  be  away,  and  to  feel  that  you're  being  watched  and 
entertained,  and  as  though  everything  you  do  is  public. 
But  we  never  have  that  feeling  here — or  we  try  never  to 
let  our  friends  have  it  .  .  .  Many  people  say  that :  with 
us  the  saying's  true.  Do  you  understand  that?  I  hope 
you  do.  There  won't  be  any  plans  made  .  .  .  No 
least  expectation  of  your  obedience  .   .   .  d'you  see?" 


52  SEPTEMBER 

"  Splendid,"  Cherry  said,  half  under  her  breath. 
"  You're  so  very  kind." 

"  Well,  be  happy   ..." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  be,"  startlingly  mused  Cherry. 
Marian  could  feel  the  sudden  piercing  distrustful  dart  of 
her  eyes,  measuring.  She  wondered  if  Cherry  also  had 
been  busy  in  estimates.  Such  a  question  could  not  stay 
in  her  mind  :  the  moment  gave  no  opportunity  for  further 
thought.  Her  own  return  scrutiny  was  a  warmer,  em- 
bracing glance  that  took  in  the  quiver  of  Cherry's  lids  as 
they  quickly  responded  to  some  sensitiveness — perhaps 
to  concealment  of  a  yet  more  inquisitive  survey. 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  Marian  said,  very  low.  "  That 
is,  if  you  don't   .    .    .   dislike  me  too  much." 

"  Dislike  ?  '  The  young  face  was  puzzled,  perhaps  be- 
cause the  speech  had  been  too  frank. 

"  Say,  distrust,"  corrected  Marian.     "  Be  at  ease." 

There  came  a  little  sigh.  Cherry  was  reflecting.  She 
impulsively  turned  and  took  Marian's  arm,  like  a  confid- 
ing child,  and  her  voice  was  very  quiet,  as  though  the 
words  came  against  her  will.  She  gave  the  impression  of 
being  entirely  plastic,  the  lovely  child  of  innocent  respon- 
siveness. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  kind  to  me,"  she 
said.  Then,  even  more  quickly,  so  that  the  words  were 
breathless,  "  You  know  I  feel  such  an  outsider.  It's  not 
quite  fair  to  me.  You're  so  much  more  .  .  .  somehow 
.  .  .  finished  than  I  am.  You've  got  more  self-control 
than  I  have." 

Marian  did  not  answer.  How  envious,  how  grudging, 
had  been  the  child's  tone!  They  continued  their  walk  to 
the  arbour,  which  was  covered  with  nodding  pink  roses. 
Within  were  garden  chairs  and  the  tumbled  rods  and 
ropes  and  netting  of  a  hammock.  It  was  a  lovely  corner, 
so  shafted  that  it  was  cool,  so  open  to  the  breeze  that  it 


CHERRY  IN  THE  MORNING  53 

was  airy  and  unconfined.  Cherry  released  Marian's  arm. 
As  if  in  chagrin  at  her  impulsive  candour,  she  was  frown- 
ing slightly;  but  when  she  turned  again  there  was  upon 
her  face  such  an  exquisite  smile  that  Marian  seemed  to 
read  deep  into  her  heart  as  bees  dive  into  harebells.  At 
that  moment  there  seemed  no  barrier  between  them.  All 
human  loveliness  rose  from  Cherry's  heart  like  a  sweet 
breath,  and  filled  her  face  with  wonder. 

iii 

It  was  much  later,  when  the  morning  was  far  spent, 
that  Marian  knew  how  little  the  girl  had  given  in  open 
confidence.  It  was  as  though  she  was  guarded,  in  spite 
of  her  sudden  avowal  of  inferiority.  Nevertheless, 
Marian  was  only  dimly  conscious  of  this  thing,  and  her 
thoughts  were  untroubled,  because  the  explanation  lay  so 
readily  within  reach.  If  Cherry  was  guarded,  it  was  be- 
cause she  did  not  speak  readily,  did  not  yet  trust  so  as 
to  be  able  to  tell  with  candour  her  ordinary  thoughts. 
Marian  was  not  at  the  end  of  her  intuitions  regarding 
Cherry.  And  she  had  never  in  her  life  pressed  for 
confidences.  She  was  too  proud  to  do  that,  herself  too 
self-assured.  She  was  never  dependent  upon  the  views 
and  confessions  of  others,  but  made  her  own  judgments 
and  drew  her  own  inferences.  She  used  every  smallest 
piece  of  self -revelation  in  her  imaginings,  and  so  her 
portraits  became  true  and  living  things.  In  that  they 
differed  from  the  character-readings  of  others,  who  make 
up  their  minds  in  a  moment — by  what  they  call  instinct 
— and  spent  the  rest  of  their  time  in  being  surprised  and 
in  refusing  to  correct  their  impressions. 

Howard  was  late  for  breakfast.  He  was  late  to  reach 
the  breakfast-room,  demanding  his  breakfast  very  loudly 
in  order  to  prevent  rebuke  from  all  present.  But  his 
elaborate    scheme    was   defeated.      He    did    not    escape 


54  SEPTEMBER 

Cherry's  reproof,  which  was  almost  resentfully  delivered. 

"  You're  shamefully  late !  "  she  cried.  "  Shamelessly, 
I  mean.    You  don't  deserve  any  breakfast  at  all!  " 

Marian  thought : 

"  She  likes  Howard.  She's  more  at  ease  with  him  than 
she  is  with  me.    She  can  tease  him." 

For  his  part,  Howard  took  little  notice  of  the  rebuke. 
He  glanced  with  cheerful  superciliousness  at  each  face  in 
turn,  his  own  cheeks  red  and  cheery,  and  his  great  height 
and  breadth  both  emphasised  and  justified  by  the  flannel 
suit  he  wore. 

"  Pooh!  "  he  said.  "  All  the  same,  I  overslept  myself. 
I  grant  it.  I  grant  it.  These  things  will  happen  .  .  . 
Robert,  my  boy :  you're  the  youngest  male  present.  It 
would  be  only  decent  of  a  fellow  to  give  me  a  piece 
of  .  .  .  No,  I'll  have  toast.  Kindly  pass  that  rack. 
Thank  you.  Thank  you,  all.  And  now  you  may  tell  me 
what  you've  been  doing  all  day,  while  I  lay  there  incapable 
of  moving.  Robert :  how  far  have  you  walked  this 
morning?  " 

"  From  my  room,  here,"  explained  Robert,  unabashed. 

"  Well,  that's  honest,  at  any  rate.     And  Cherry?  " 

"  I  had  an  appetite  for  my  breakfast,"  said  Cherry, 
sedately. 

"Sedentary  folk!'  He  did  not  put  a  question  to 
Marian.  She  had  not  expected  that  he  would,  and  would 
not  have  remarked  the  omission  if  Cherry  had  not  shown 
by  an  uncontrollable  movement  that  she  had  noticed 
Howard's  lack  of  interest  and  enjoyed  it  with  a  certain 
naive  and  malicious  delight. 

iv 

After  breakfast  Marian  left  them.  She  had  her  neces- 
sary morning's  work  to  do,  and  she  was  being  true  to 
her  own  promise  that  Cherry  was  to  be  entirely  free. 


CHERRY  IN  THE  MORNING  55 

The  luncheon  was  to  be  discussed  with  cook;  a  couple  of 
letters  were  to  be  written  and  various  messages  and  in- 
structions to  be  given.  She  was  absent  about  an  hour, 
and  upon  her  return  found  Robert  outside  the  house  with 
a  bicycle  and  a  spanner  and  a  small  pump.  He  had 
found  the  bicycle  he  had  used  upon  earlier  visits,  and  he 
was  putting  it  in  order  for  use  later  in  the  day  and  in  the 
holiday.  At  Marian's  arrival  he  looked  up,  rather  grimy 
and  breathless,  saluting  her  with  an  appearance  of  pre- 
occupied pleasure. 

"  This  old  jigger's  rather  gone  to  pot.  auntie,"  he 
observed,  briefly.  "I've  got  to  oil  it.  Listen  to  this!" 
He  span  the  pedals,  which  huskily  showed  themselves  to 
be  out  of  condition.  They  were  checked,  and  ran  free 
for  a  very  short  time.    Marian  made  a  sound  of  regret. 

"  Very  bad.  It  hasn't  been  used  since  you  were  here 
last.    Did  you  bring  your  tennis  racket  ?  " 

"Rather!  Not  that  I'm  tennis-mad  this  year.  It's 
because  I  haven't  had  any  practice.  I've  been  going  in 
for  cricket.  It's  a  great  game.  I'll  tell  you  what,  auntie  : 
cricket  wants  brightening.  There  ought  to  be  more 
slogging.  If  I  had  my  way  I'd  delete  averages — simply 
wash  them  out — never  allow  them.  Then  you'd  get  it  as 
a  game.  Have  you  ever  seen  chaps  scoring?  Putting 
down  a  dot  in  each  corner  and  two  more  on  the  sides,  and 
counting  the  maiden  overs.  They  gloat  over  them. 
Maidens!  As  though  they  mattered!  What's  a  maiden 
over  in  a  real  sporting  game !  Boredom,  auntie ;  boredom 
pure  and  simple.  The  old  bowler  gets  broken-backed  and 
bowls  his  heart  out;  the  batsman  doesn't  think  of 
hitting  the  ball — only  of  getting  set  and  getting  two 
up  on  his  average;  and  the  fieldsmen  get  slack.  No. 
It's  averages  that  are  killing  cricket.  They've  made  it  a 
science  instead  of  a  sport."  He  stood  with  his  feet  wide 
apart  and  his  dirty  hands  hanging,  the  fingers  fastidiously 


56  SEPTEMBER 

outspread.  His  button  nose  seemed  quite  irrecoverably 
supercilious,  and  his  wide  mouth  was  the  epitome  of  con- 
tempt. Nobody  could  have  questioned  the  seriousness  of 
the  problem  or  of  his  concern  with  it. 

"  All  you  say  sounds — unarguable,"  Marian  admitted. 
"  I  once  went  to  .  .  .  was  it  Lord's  or  the  Oval  ?  I 
forget.  And  what  I  liked  was  the  beautiful  sound  of  the 
bat.  It  gave  me  the  same  thrill  that  I  get  from  hearing 
butter  patted." 

"  Jolly  fine !  "  commented  Robert.  "  Oh,  but  you  want 
the  end  of  the  day,  and  long  shadows,  and  a  small  country 
ground  like  Maidstone,  and  everything  beautifully 
drowsy  and  happy."  He  was  enraptured  at  his  own 
recollection.  "  I  once  saw  Kent  play  Sussex  at  Maid- 
stone .  .  .  Oh!  ..."  His  sigh  was  delicious.  The 
memory  was  of  a  red-letter  day.  "  There  was  nobody 
there  but  me — I  mean,  Cherry  had  gone  mooning  off  with 
some  fellow,  and  mother  and  father  stayed  at  home.  It 
was  a  treat !  "  v 

Cherry!  Mooning  off  with  some  fellow!  Uncon- 
trollably Marian  shook  her  head.  As  though  she  had 
spoken  aloud,  Robert  looked  up. 

"  She's  like  that,  you  know,"  he  said.  "  Oh  no  .  .  . 
I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that.  Gives  you  a  wrong  impres- 
sion. She's  all  right,  you  know,  auntie.  But  she's  no  end 
of  a  silly  idiot,  all  the  same." 

Relief  came  to  Marian  at  this  enlightenment.  Robert 
was  so  transparent  that  she  knew  he  was  speaking  hon- 
estly. But  it  was  one  of  her  traits  that  she  persuaded 
people  to  speak  the  truth  to  her. 

"Did  you  notice  where  Cherry  went  this  morning?" 
she  asked,  more  to  cover  the  difficulty  than  to  obtain 
information. 

"  No,"  said  Robert.  He  had  scratched  his  head  and 
had  gone  back  to  the  bicycle  that  lay  at  his  feet.     "  Oh, 


CHERRY  IN  THE  MORNING  57 

yes  I  did,  though  .  .  .  She  and  uncle  went  down  the 
garden.  I  expect  they've  gone  for  a  walk.  Uncle  said : 
was  she  ready?   .    .    ." 

Marian  smiled  at  his  preoccupation  with  the  decayed 
bicycle.  Then  she  wondered  where  the  others  had 
gone.  Had  a  walk,  then,  been  arranged  beforehand? 
Funny  .  .  .  She  left  Robert  and  walked  slowly  in  the 
shade,  carrying  her  garden  basket  and  moving  towards 
the  small  orchard,  where  ripening  apples  were  catching 
the  sun  and  coyly  peeping  from  cosy  nests  of  leaf  and 
twig.  What  a  lovely  day  it  was,  warm  and  fragrant, 
without  a  cloud  and  without  fret!  It  was  a  midsummer 
day,  but  with  the  air  not  yet  staled  and  earth  not  yet 
parched.  Everywhere  was  the  same  precious  silence  and 
the  same  subdued  stirring  of  life.  She  was  curiously 
happy. 


CHAPTER  VI:  AFTERNOON  SUNSHINE 


THE  others  came  back  before  lunch-time,  hot  from 
their  walk,  but  in  high  spirits.  They  did  not  seem 
very  clear  as  to  where  they  had  been ;  but  Howard  was 
joking,  and  Cherry  had  her  pretty  little  mouth  closed  and 
curled  in  a  gleeful  smile  that  did  not  show  her  teeth. 
She  was  nonsensically  happy.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice 
was  light,  as  though  the  sun  had  chased  away  the  faint 
hoarseness  which  she  occasionally  betrayed.  Robert, 
after  a  wash,  had  recovered  his  composure,  and  was  in- 
clined to  be  exultant  over  his  morning's  work. 

"  The  bike  is  a  good  bike,"  he  exclaimed.  "It's  not 
half  a  bad  bike — nozu.  When  I  took  it  in  hand  it  was 
absolutely  a  ruin.    How  it  had  got  into  that  state    .    .    ." 

"  Desuetude,  my  boy ;  desuetude,"  remarked  Howard. 
"  Just  as  I  sometimes  show  the  effects  of  age.    ..." 

"  How  silly !  "  cried  Cherry,  her  cheeks  reddening. 

"  Howard's  rather  old  .  .  .  at  times."  Marian's 
amusement  at  Cherry's  sudden  scowl  was  great.  "  He 
sometimes  forgets  how  old  he  is." 

"  That's  when  I'm  with  you,"  Howard  said. 

"  Or  me "     Cherry's  eagerness  was  irrepressible. 

She  turned  almost  elaborately  to  Marian.     "  He's  not  a 
bit  old,  really.     Not  a  bit  old." 

"  It's  his  affectation.     His  chief  affectation." 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  as  old  as  uncle.  No, 
that's  not  right  ..."  It  appeared  that  Robert  felt 
himself  to  have  been  guilty  of  a  faux  pas.    They  waited 

58 


AFTERNOON  SUNSHINE  59 

patiently  for  him  to  drill  his  thoughts.  "  What  I  mean 
is  .  .  .  Listen !  I'm  getting  on  for  seventeen.  Uncle's 
about  three  times  my  age.  I'd  like  to  be  as  young  as  he 
is  when  I'm  fifty-one." 

"  But  he's  not  fifty-one."  Cherry's  voice  was  grim. 
Her  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"  Did  I  say  he  was  ?  "  asked  Robert,  studiously  polite. 
"  Mind  you,  there's  this  to  be  said  about  uncle  and 
me  ..."  They  waited,  breathlessly.  "  If  he's  young 
for  his  age,  I'm  old  for  mine.  I  sometimes  feel  I'm  a 
hundred " 

"  Oho !    I  always  do  that !  "  roared  Howard. 

"  It's  a  good  age,  of  course,"  said  Marian. 

"  As  the  crow  flies."  Howard  was  in  fine  feather,  and 
had  them  all  very  much  at  his  mercy. 

"  No.  A  hundred.  It's  quite  true,"  protested  Robert, 
unoffended.  "  You  don't  realise,  of  course.  You  think 
I'm  a  boy." 

'  So  you  are."  Cherry's  tone  was  low,  contemptuous. 
"Ridiculous!" 

"  I'd  rather  be  as  old  as  me  than  as  young  and  idiotic 
as  you,"  scathingly  retorted  Robert.  "  I  do  know  what 
I'm  doing."  He  was  scarlet,  and  Cherry  was  sparkling 
with  anger. 

"  I'm  not  young,"  she  said.  "  I'm  all  the  ages.  I've 
got  no  illusions." 

Marian  tried  amusedly  but  warningly  to  catch 
Howard's  eye.  To  her  surprise  he  was  looking  uncom- 
fortable.    So  she  had  to  deal  with  the  difficulty  herself. 

"  Robert  feels  old  because  he's  cleaned  up  the  bicycle," 
she  explained.  "  And  I  feel  as  old  as  the  hills  out  of 
sympathy  with  him." 

That  brought  calm,  and  a  quick  curiosity  from  Cherry. 

"  How  old  arc  you  ?  "  Cherry  demanded  in  her  abrupt 
way.    It  was  clear  that  she  had  never  wondered  about  it, 


00  SEPTEMBER 

and  never  known.    She  was  even  imperiously  rude  in  her 
inquiry. 

"  I'm  thirty-eight,"  confessed  Marian. 

The  relief  that  shone  in  that  darkened  face  was  unmis- 
takable. It  was  as  though  Cherry,  her  jealousy  aroused 
and  appeased  within  the  instant,  had  ejaculated  in  satis- 
faction, "  Oh,  then  you're  quite  old !  "  Marian  grimaced 
to  herself,  feeling  snubbed.  Her  feeling  towards  Cherry 
at  that  moment  was  not  at  all  cordial.  She  thought: 
"Nasty  little  wretch!"  But  she  was  rather  rueful. 
After  all,  she  was  thirty-eight ! 

*  • 

u 

The  lunch  proceeded  in  very  much  the  same  strain.  It 
was  clear  that  Robert  was  as  a  thorn  in  Cherry's  soft 
flesh,  and  that  Cherry  was  the  subject  of  subterranean 
musings  on  Robert's  part.  If  they  loved  each  other,  as 
Marian  could  not  doubt,  the  love  was  very  much  that 
loyal  hostility  of  brother  and  sister.  They  were  half  the 
time  in  a  state  of  contemptuous  animosity  towards  each 
other,  and  the  animosity  showed  no  development,  but  only 
an  incessant  sensitiveness. 

If  Howard  had  been  her  husband  in  mind,  as  well  as 
in  fact  (they  had  gradually  ceased  to  exchange  intimate 
perceptions  in  the  course  of  the  last  ten  years),  Marian 
would  have  discussed  this  relation  with  him ;  but  it  never 
occurred  to  her  nowadays  to  do  such  a  thing.  She  knew 
she  must  store  her  impressions  in  secret,  for  a  re-exami- 
nation that  had  all  the  features  of  miserliness  without 
any  of  the  impulses  of  that  instinct.  More  than  anything 
else,  she  needed  this  sympathy  of  perception.  It  was 
lacking,  and  so  her  married  life  was  a  stupidity.  She 
watched  the  two  children  without  reflecting  that  all  her 
understandings  must  be  secret  and  incommunicable. 

A  long  streak  of  sunshine  burst  into  the  room,  carrying 


AFTERNOON  SUNSHINE  61 

its  horrid  revelations  of  the  atmosphere  they  were  breath- 
ing. Round  and  round  whirled  the  motes,  with  that 
hideous  air  of  mechanical  purpose  that  makes  them  a 
source  of  constraint  and  madness  to  the  sensitive  mind. 
On  and  on  they  roamed  the  air,  soulless  and  unspeakable. 
Marian  fell  into  a  sort  of  dream,  watching  them.  Her 
eyes  became  set,  her  lips  closed.  When  she  came  once 
more  abruptly  to  herself  it  was  with  the  sense  that  she 
was  under  observation.  With  merciless,  hostile  expres- 
sion Cherry  was  steadily  regarding  her.  It  gave  Marian 
a  shock  to  be  aware  of  such  a  ruthless  examination.  She 
looked  back,  half-angrily ;  and  Cherry's  gaze  dropped, 
not  abashed,  but  in  concealment  of  her  thoughts.  Never- 
theless, her  thoughts  had  been  plain.  They  had  been 
those  of  curiosity,  not  of  love. 

iii 

Lunch  had  not  long  been  finished,  and  they  had  all 
just  strolled  rather  limply  into  the  garden,  when  there 
was  a  far  distant  humming,  recognisably  that  of  a  motor- 
car. All  looked  to  the  distance,  where  a  tiny  cloud  of 
dust  showed  upon  the  road,  rising  thick  behind  the  vehicle 
that  was  not  yet  visible  to  them.  Cars  in  that  district, 
and  in  this  direction,  were  so  rare  as  to  be  of  very  great 
interest  to  all — even  to  visitors,  accustomed  as  they  must 
be  to  the  endless  processions  of  London  streets.  They 
grouped  upon  the  lawn,  shading  their  eyes,  much  as  they 
might  have  done  at  the  intermittent  roaring  of  an  aero- 
plane. They  still  could  not  see  the  car;  but  the  dust- 
cloud  grew  larger,  billowing  up  above  the  hedges. 

"I  see  it!"  cried  Robert.  He  had  caught  the  glint 
of  one  of  the  brass  head-lamps  in  the  sun.  "  Quite  a 
small  one !    It's  coming  at  a  good  pace,  isn't  it !  ' 

Howard  turned  to  Marian  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  You  didn't  expect  anybody,  did  you  ?  "  he  asked. 


62  SEPTEMBER 

"  No.  Probably  it  isn't  coming  here  at  all." 
So  it  appeared.  The  car  was  lost  to  sight.  What  was 
so  curious  was  that  when  Howard  asked  her  that  question 
Marian  had  felt  her  heart  beating  a  little  faster.  How 
strange  the  feeling  had  been !  And  what  in  the  world 
could  have  produced  that  more  rapid  action  of  her  heart? 
Marian  was  puzzled  to  account  for  it.  She  moved  rest- 
lessly towards  Robert,  who  had  thrown  himself  upon 
the  grass. 

iv 

When  she  turned  again  it  was  to  see  Cherry  and 
Howard  disappearing  in  the  opposite  direction.  She 
looked  after  them  for  a  moment,  because  it  gave  her  such 
pleasure  to  see  that  slim  figure.  It  was  clear  to  her  that 
Cherry  did  not  wear  corsets  :  the  movement  was  too  much 
that  of  a  healthy,  unconfined  body  to  permit  any  doubt. 
That  was  an  impression  she  had  not  consciously  had 
before.  Instinctively  her  hands  stole  to  her  own  waist. 
She  murmured  to  herself  "  Thirty-eight  ...  as  old 
as  that !  "  and  her  cheeks  were  warm.  A  small,  clinging 
feeling  of  annoyance  came.  She  was  vaguely  irritated 
with  herself  for  some  unaccustomed  vanity;  but  she  was 
quite  definitely  irritated  with  Cherry  for  a  pettiness  that 
she  despised.  In  vain  did  Marian  say  "  She's  very 
young  "  :  even  very  young  girls  were  not  so  tough  in  their 
cruelty  as  was  Cherry.  A  faint  unhappy  sigh  came  to 
Marian's  lips.  She  nodded  slightly.  It  was  as  though 
she  were  saying  "  Poor  Alice  Mant !  "  And  yet  Alice 
perhaps  was  to  blame;  for  a  well-brought-up  girl  would 
not  have  carried  into  the  world  this  vulgar  habit  of  ob- 
vious judgment.  Back  went  Marian's  mind  to  a  truer 
vision  of  Cherry.  It  all  arose  from  that  confessed  sense 
of  inferiority.  Cherry  was  all  the  time  trying  to  create 
an  ideal  superiority  out  of  nervous  reaction  from  a  too 


AFTERNOON  SUNSHINE  63 

candid  sense  of  her  own  shortcomings.  She  was  always 
trying  to  reassure  herself  by  noticing  the  failings  of 
others. 

Musing  thus,  Marian  looked  round  again,  to  find  that 
she  was  completely  alone.  Robert  was  far  away,  tor- 
menting his  newly-renovated  bicycle  and  pedalling  along 
the  road  upon  which  they  had  seen  the  motor-car.  She 
was  solitary  in  that  part  of  the  garden.  It  was  then  that 
she  resolved  to  go  into  the  arbour,  to  read  for  an  hour 
before  tea ;  and  so  she  found  a  new  novel  and  came  out 
again  to  the  arbour,  in  which  she  sat,  drowsily  reading 
the  book  while  bees  hummed  near  by  and  a  lark  swam 
high  above  warbling  his  rapture  in  the  cloudless  sky. 
Far  far  away  that  hushing  sound  of  light  breezes  among 
the  leaves,  as  soothing  as  the  noise  of  lapping  waves. 
Marian  was  not  asleep,  but  she  was  dreaming.  Her 
book  fell  gently  to  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  softened  as  she 
looked  out  into  the  radiant  garden.  The  sounds  receded 
and  came  again,  soft  and  still.  Everything  was  happy. 
Marian  was  happy.  It  was  an  unblemished  moment  in 
her  life. 


She  had  been  there  for  perhaps  an  hour  when  she  was 
impelled  to  walk  a  little  in  the  garden,  under  the  shady 
rose-arches;  and  she  went  out  into  the  sun  once  more, 
still  in  her  quiet  dream.  Unconsciously  she  was  smiling, 
her  cheeks  faintly  coloured  by  the  afternoon's  warmth 
and  the  happiness  which  she  had  been  feeling.  Without 
consciously  directing  her  steps,  she  moved  first  this  way 
and  then  that  among  the  flowers  and  the  bushes,  so 
heavily  scented  as  a  result  of  their  response  to  the  sun's 
heat.  She  came  thus  to  the  edge  of  the  little  wood  that 
bordered  the  garden;  but  she  came  to  it,  not  direct,  as 
from  the  house ;  but  obliquely,  because  her  path  had  been 


64  SEPTEMBER 

so  unconsidered  that  she  had  strayed  far  over  the  garden. 
It  was  for  this  reason  that  she  came  unobserved  upon 
Cherry  and  Howard,  who  stood  together  in  the  shade. 
They  were  closely  embraced,  and  Cherry's  head,  thrown 
back,  revealed  the  beautiful  line  of  her  throat.  Her  eyes 
were  closed.  She  was  lost  in  some  dream  of  happiness, 
closely  pressed  against  Howard,  ardently  loving. 
Howard's  face  was  bent  to  Cherry's ;  his  eyes  vehemently 
searching  out  the  childish  loveliness  of  the  piquant  lips 
and  chin  and  brow.  That  both  were  in  love  Marian  could 
have  no  doubt.    She  was  seized  with  a  chill  horror. 


CHAPTER  VII:  A  VISITOR 


IMPULSIVELY,  she  turned  away,  moving  swiftly  and 
in  silence  across  the  grass,  as  far  as  possible  trying  to 
remain  hidden  from  the  entranced  pair  in  the  wood.  She 
was  not  thinking :  she  was  a  prey  only  to  her  secret  knowl- 
edge. For  that  moment  there  was  no  motive  in  her  mind 
but  the  effort  to  escape  notice.  But  as  she  walked  a  flood 
of  little  driving  emotions  racked  her.  She  had  seen  two 
lovers;  but  not  lovers  in  whose  happiness  she  could  re- 
joice. These  were  lovers  whose  future  could  be  nothing 
but  unhappy.  There  was  anger  in  her  heart — anger  with 
Howard,  anger  with  Cherry.  She  had  no  wound,  but  an 
indignation  with  their  concealment,  the  unfitness  of  the 
relation,  even — ridiculously — with  a  kind  of  panting  pro- 
test against  such  indiscretion  as  they  had  shown.  It  was 
monstrous  that  Cherry  should  have  been  brought  to  the 
house!  How  she  seemed  now  to  understand  the  girl's 
hard  scrutiny  of  herself,  and  how  clearly  explained  was 
that  reserve  which  she  had  noticed  and  forgiven !  Angry 
and  trembling,  Marian  stood  still  when  she  was  out  of 
sight  of  the  wood.  If  she  hated  duplicity  she  hated  both 
Howard  and  Cherry.  She  could  not  restrain  her  ugly 
indignation. 

For  long,  she  remained  in  this  agitated  state,  torn  and 
breathing  fast.  The  quick  reaction  came  in  an  attempt 
to  steady  her  own  nerves,  to  face  the  situation  with  self- 
control. 

"  I  must  be  very  cool,  very  quiet,"  she  said  to  herself. 

65 


66  SEPTEMBER 

'  I  must  think  of  the  best  thing  to  do.  I  must  be  slow. 
And  not  too  priggish  ..."  With  extraordinary  swift- 
ness her  mind  was  at  work  upon  Cherry's  mind,  like  a 
crochet  needle  gathering  threads  together  and  giving  them 
due  form.  She  imagined  Cherry,  her  fancy  straying 
among  inclinations  to  love,  rinding  Howard  curiously  at- 
tractive, vigorous,  even  alluring  in  his  masculinity.  She 
thought  of  darkness  and  a  laughing  kiss,  of  a  gradual 
reliance  upon  her  power  to  please  Howard,  wantonly 
inquisitive  about  her  power  to  attract  a  man,  seeking  for 
a  satisfaction  different  in  kind  from  the  casual  conquest 
of  trembling  boys.  So  girls  loved  older  men — not  with 
love,  but  with  a  secret  excitement  at  an  increased  sense  of 
danger.  So,  perhaps,  Cherry,  venturing  farther,  and  car- 
ried farther  yet  by  Howard's  experienced  handling  of 
young  hearts,  had  come  at  length  to  this  rapturous  yield- 
ing to  her  love  of  love.  Was  it  that?  Or  was  the  girl  a 
wanton,  playing  with  fire,  playing  with  hearts,  and  drunk 
with  her  own  vanity?    How  difficult  to  judge! 

Marian  was  not  cool.  Her  thoughts  fired  other 
thoughts,  and  the  train  went  flying  into  vivid  speculations 
far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  ability  to  phrase  and  recog- 
nise. She  was  in  that  nervous  state  in  which  women 
glimpse  chaos,  their  intuitions  so  swift  and  in  such 
conflict  that  the  outcome  is  a  burning  mist  through  which 
hideous  blacknesses  rush  and  blot  out  the  light.  She 
was  lost  to  all  sense  of  space  and  time,  momentarily  a 
madwoman,  clairvoyant  in  lucidity;  but  incapable  of  com- 
prehending the  drift  of  her  own  perceptions. 

ii 

There  came  to  her  no  impulse  to  return  to  the  wood. 
She  too  clearly  saw  the  two  lovers  standing  there  in  the 
shade.  She  could  not,  by  so  much  as  a  call,  have  brought 
them  to  her  side.     Breathing  quickly  she  went  back  to 


A  VISITOR  67 

the  lawn  near  the  house,  where,  in  the  shade,  stood  a  tea- 
table.  Even  as  she  approached,  Blanche  came  again  from 
the  house,  carrying  a  tray.  Marian  did  not  realise  where 
she  was  or  what  preparations  were  in  progress;  but  when, 
an  instant  later,  the  bell  was  rung  to  summon  the  wan- 
derers to  tea,  she  started,  her  one  thought  being  that  the 
lovers  would  hear  the  bell,  and  be  forced  to  return. 

Robert  came  strolling  over  the  lawn,  from  the  house. 
He  had  evidently  washed  after  his  hasty  bicycle  ride,  for 
he  was  rosy  and  vigorous.  To  her  eyes  he  seemed  taller 
and  more  manly.  If  she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
with  some  uncontrollable  suspicion,  lest  he  too  should  be 
in  process  of  deceiving  her,  the  glance  was  reassuring; 
for  whatever  sins  that  aged  air  of  guileless  innocence 
concealed  they  were  not  yet  those  of  deliberate  love- 
making.  He  seemed  to  her  still,  as  he  had  always  seemed, 
a  clean  boy,  and  a  good  one,  who  would  make  an  honest 
man.  He  approached  rather  languidly,  but  did  not  dis- 
guise his  muscular  strength. 

"  Thanks,  auntie,"  he  said.  "  Jolly  good  thing — tea. 
In  its  place.  In  the  garden,  I  mean,  on  a  day  like  this." 
He  sat  down,  sprawling  a  little.  Then  he  started  upright, 
his  ears  pricked.  "What's  that?"  he  said.  "Car 
again  ?  " 

So  it  appeared.  They  could  not  see  anything;  but  the 
sound  grew  louder.  The  humming  was  more  pro- 
nounced. 

"  It  sounds  ..."     Marian  stopped  in  wonderment. 

"  Stopped !  "  cried  Robert.  "  Somebody  coming 
here." 

He  stood  up,  looking  expectantly  towards  the  house; 
and  just  then  Blanche  appeared  at  the  door,  conducting 
a  visitor — a  young  man.  Marian's  breath  was  suddenly 
lost,  it  seemed,  in  astonishment,  so  unexpected  was  the 
appearance  of  this  newcomer.     She  had  no  power  to 


68  SEPTEMBER 

accept  him  naturally.     It  was  Nigel  Sinclair  who  was 
coming  across  the  lawn  towards  her. 

iii 

The  young  man  presented,  in  his  suit  of  flannels,  a  very 
different  figure  from  the  one  which  she  now  knew  to 
have  been  in  her  imagination  since  the  evening  of  the 
Sinclairs'  visit.  He  was  not  merely  the  thoughtfully 
ingenuous  critic  of  a  life  outside  his  own  experience,  or 
a  pianist  of  unusual  skill.  He  was,  as  Marian  saw,  a 
strong  and  virile  creature,  with  physical  beauty  quite 
other  than  the  decorative.  As  he  walked  he  carried  him- 
self with  a  poise  that  showed  him  to  be  well  made,  muscu- 
lar, and  in  good  condition.  In  evening  dress  he  had  been 
graceful  and  charming:  he  now  appeared  as  an  athlete. 
The  dark  face  and  darker  eyes  which  had  seemed  fit  for 
thought  and  for  vision  were  disconcertingly  those  of  a 
young  man  alert  to  participate  in  the  vigours  of  sport. 
Something  disappointed  her  even  while  she  admired  him 
in  this  new  role.  It  was  somehow  unwelcome  to  Marian 
that  he  should  be  so  strong,  and  in  this  so  outside  the 
range  of  her  sympathy.  She  greeted  him  with  a  generous 
pleasure,  and  presented  Robert.  While  she  was  thus 
engaged  she  was  aware  that  Howard  was  near,  coming 
straight  from  the  direction  of  the  wood.  Her  glance 
flew  to  Howard's  side ;  but  Cherry  was  not  there.  How 
her  heart  was  beating!  She  made  the  two  men  known 
to  each  other,  watching  both  faces  to  gain  a  sense  of  their 
mutual  impressions.  Both,  however,  were  unreadable. 
They  shook  hands,  and  looked  with  interest,  but  gave  no 
sign  of  special  curiosity.  Why  should  they  have  done 
so  ?  And  yet  to  Marian,  tortured  as  she  was,  it  appeared 
that  things  could  not  be  so  casual.  Surely  Nigel  must  be 
able  to  read  further?  Urgently  she  sought  Howard's 
expression  again.     It  told  her  nothing.     Howard  stood 


A  VISITOR  69 

there  simply  as  the  tall  broad-shouldered  man-of-the- 
world,  polite  and  cordial  to  a  stranger.  Had  she  not  seen 
him  with  Cherry  she  would  have  suspected  nothing.  He 
was  the  Howard  of  every  day :  nothing  more. 

Her  next  impulse  was  to  say,  startlingly,  "  Where  is 
Cherry?"  She  could  not  do  it.  Her  heart  seemed  to  be 
like  water,  and  her  mouth  dry.  Some  feeling  made  her 
cramped  and  silent.  Constraint  seized  Marian.  But  she 
was  in  a  moment  once  again  cool.  Her  lids  dropped  once 
for  a  long  instant.  And  then  Cherry  came  from  behind 
her,  and  with  a  gravity  altogether  unexpected  made 
Nigel's  acquaintance.  To  that  swift,  feeling  glance  to 
which  she  also  was  subjected,  Cherry  gave  no  responsive 
sign.  Clear  and  candid,  without  constraint  or  boldness, 
she  carried  herself  with  a  modest  air  that  held  no  flaw  of 
insincerity. 

Marian  drew  a  long  breath.  What  duplicity  lay  here ! 
What  extraordinary  and  hateful  self-possession!  It  was 
hideous!  It  was  unbelievable.  She  felt  chilled  and  un- 
happy— not  jealous  or  angry;  but  a  prey  to  nervous  dis- 
taste. Steel  came  into  her  glance;  the  bitter  chill  of 
remorseless  contempt  for  dissimulation.  It  was  only  as 
Cherry  seated  herself  that  Marian  caught  suddenly,  above 
the  low-cut  blouse,  a  fluttering  of  the  breast  that  showed 
a  heart  throbbing  fast  under  that  tranquil  demeanour. 
And  Cherry's  eyes  were  wet.  What  an  enigma !  A  sharp 
sadness  came  to  Marian.  Uncontrollably  moved,  she 
sighed  deeply. 


CHAPTER  VIII:  TENNIS 


THE  pleasant  clink  of  teaspoons,  and  the  accom- 
plished cutting  of  cake  by  Robert,  took  them  all,  it 
seemed,  into  a  mood  of  superficial  content  with  the  after- 
noon. The  sun  was  so  hot,  and  the  shade  in  which  they 
sat  so  delightful,  that  all  grew  languid.  They  reclined  at 
ease.  Only  the  hearts  of  all  sang  and  beat  with  hidden 
emotions.  Marian  could  not  think :  she  could  only  play 
hostess  with  half  he'r  usual  enjoyment,  mechanically 
aware  of  empty  cups  and  plates,  and  obediently  attentive 
to  their  replenishment.  It  was  like  a  dream.  She  felt 
how  unreal  was  this  peace,  and  yet  she  was  enthralled  by 
it  and  made  to  feel  that  upon  such  a  day  secret  things 
must  be  concealed,  thrust  deep  in  ordinary  demeanour 
and  pulsing  with  graver  measure  than  the  unseen  excite- 
ments of  the  hour  demanded.  They  questioned  Nigel  as 
to  his  journeyings,  his  going  and  his  return,  and  the 
doings  of  the  Sinclairs,  and  the  chance  that  had  brought 
him  there  this  afternoon.  He,  as  if  sharing  their  mood, 
responded  with  drowsy  sense  of  the  place  and  the  'lour. 

"  They're  both  very  well,"  he  said ;  "  and  they  would 
have  come  with  me  if  there  hadn't  been  some  odd  people 
over  from  Aldeburgh.  They  want  to  come  to-morrow 
afternoon,  if  they  may.    If  you'll  be  at  home." 

"Of  course!"  cried  Marian,  quickly.  "And  perhaps 
you'll  play  tennis  then?  " 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact," — he  perceptibly  brightened — 
"  I  brought  my  racket  this  afternoon." 

TO 


TENNIS  71 

"  Splendid ! "  exclaimed  Cherry,  unconscious  of 
Marian's  slight  frown  at  her  sudden  irruption  and  inter- 
ference with  the  reply  which  should  have  come  from  one 
of  the  Forsters. 

"  We'll  have  a  sett  after  tea,"  suggested  Howard. 

"You  and  I  will  play  Howard  and  Miss  Mant  .   .   ." 

How  did  Cherry  like  that?  wondered  Marian,  even 
as  she  spoke.  There  was  even  a  faint  tinge  of  malice  in 
her  thought.  All  of  them  were  cheered  at  the  notion. 
The  men  lighted  cigarettes  at  once,  to  show  that  they 
had  finished.  It  seemed  that  the  arrangement  was  what 
they  all  desired.  Marian,  stealthily  taking  in  the  scene, 
was  conscious  of  a  fresh  delight  at  the  prospect. 

"  I'll  get  my  racket  at  once! ':  Nigel  rose.  All  three 
males  rose,  and  Howard  went  to  the  house  with  Nigel. 
Robert  disappeared.  Marian  and  Cherry  were  left  alone. 
The  girl,  hesitating  for  a  moment,  left  her  chair  and 
stood  irresolute. 

"  Howard  will  bring  our  shoes  and  rackets,"  Marian 
reassured  her.    "  Have  some  more  tea !  " 

Cherry  made  no  reply  beyond  a  smile  and  a  shaken 
head.  Marian  lay  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  the 
slim  figure.  She  was  no  longer  angry.  She  was  per- 
fectly cool,  perfectly  critical  and  composed.  Again  there 
surged  in  her  breast  that  unspeakable  envy  of  youth. 
There  was  so  much  in  Cherry's  health  and  naivete  that 
attracted  her  and  made  an  unfavourable  sense  of  her  own 
maturity  rise  chokingly.  And  yet,  with  all  Cherry's 
youth,  there  was  the  disadvantage  that  goes  with  youth. 
Cherry  appeared  so  much  without  sense  of  direction,  as 
though  she  lived — like  a  kitten — from  moment  to 
moment,  chasing  the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  impulse,  that  the 
dangers  before  her  were  exaggerated.  If  she  had  been 
older,  the  scene  in  the  wood,  so  expressive  of  her  power 
for  momentary  ardour,  would  have  assumed  a  different 


72  SEPTEMBER 

meaning.  Even  now,  her  superficial  ease  lent  that  scene  a 
more  sinister  appearance.  But  Marian  was  too  experi- 
enced to  expect  moral  standards  from  young  women.  It 
was  fear  of  consequences  and  of  interpretation  that  kept 
women  to  ordinary  paths;  and  to  that  kind  of  fear 
Marian  thought  Cherry  might  be  a  stranger,  purely  in 
virtue  of  her  youthful  disregard  of  the  future.  Again 
Marian  sighed,  not  at  a  puzzle,  but  at  Cherry's  helpless- 
ness in  face  of  her  urgent  desires. 


11 


It  was  not  long  before  the  men  were  back,  walking 
together  in  silence,  and  obviously  unsympathetic  (though 
not  hostile)  in  temperament.  They  carried  rackets  and 
a  box  containing  tennis-balls.  Howard  had  changed  into 
costume  suitable  for  tennis,  and  had  brought  shoes  for 
Cherry  and  Marian.  They  were  all  equipped  for  the 
game,  and  they  proceeded  to  the  lawn,  upon  which  two 
nets  were  erected.  The  men  tightened  one  of  the  nets 
and  practised  for  a  moment  while  they  were  waiting 
for  the  others;  and  it  was  with  amusement  that  Marian 
saw  Cherry  take  one  or  two  dancing  steps  as  she  went 
forward,  bending  her  lithe  body  in  inexpressible  grace. 
She  ran  lightly  to  the  farther  court,  taking  her  place 
abreast  of  Howard,  while  Marian  followed  more  slowly. 
Already  there  was  another  change  in  Cherry.  She  was 
alert.  Her  face  was  a  little  flushed;  her  eyes  sparkled, 
and  her  toes  seemed  to  twinkle  upon  the  grass.  She  had 
all  the  spring  and  the  excitement  of  childhood,  eager  and 
mischievous  at  the  prospect  of  a  fresh  game.  Also,  it 
was  clear  from  the  carriage  of  her  shoulders,  she  was 
confident  of  her  skill,  and  not  unwilling  that  it  should  be 
admired  by  Nigel.  Indeed,  without  appearing  to  wish  to 
attract  him,  Cherry  was  affected  by  the  presence  of  the 
young  man.    She  did  not  look  at  him ;  but  Marian  knew 


TENNIS  73 

that  she  was  subtly  aware  of  him  all  the  time.  It  was 
quite  ingenuous,  and  delightful ;  it  held  no  significance  at 
all.  But  it  was  apparent,  and  Marian's  mind  embraced 
it  as  a  knowledge. 

The  men  span  a  penny  for  choice  of  courts.  The  game 
began.  The  white  tennis-balls  were  gathered ;  the  yellow 
rims  of  the  rackets  flashed  in  the  sun;  swift  serves  were 
made.  Dull  sounds  of  running  feet  upon  perfect  turf; 
the  whing  of  the  racket  as  the  ball  was  struck  went 
sharply  through  the  air.  Little  cries,  the  calling  of  scores, 
the  quick  thud  of  the  balls  upon  the  ground,  gave  stimulus 
to  their  enthusiasm.    Battle  was  joined. 

•  •  * 

in 

Exultant  at  the  exercise,  Marian  felt  a  new  energy 
within  her.  She  was  conscious  of  skill  and  elasticity 
and  strength.  She  was  proud  of  her  partner's  brilliance, 
and  her  own  ability  to  support  it.  As  if  magically,  they 
understood  each  other  and  played  together  in  extraordi- 
nary harmony.  The  g2me  was  hard- fought.  Cherry,  at 
the  other  side  of  the  net,  was  like  a  fury.  She  ran,  she 
stood,  she  served  and  volleyed,  with  unflagging  perti- 
nacity. To  an  onlooker  her  grace  of  movement  would 
each  moment  have  given  fresh  cause  for  tense  enjoyment. 
Whatever  fault  there  was  in  the  other  court  was  not  due 
to  any  failure  of  vivacity  upon  Cherry's  part.  She  was 
tireless.  Lovely  and  radiant,  she  had  verve  and  precision. 
Her  confidence  had  not  been  without  justification.  The 
first  game,  and  the  second,  carried  them  all  to  a  high 
pitch  of  thrilling  conflict.  Breathing  faster,  they  were 
all  alike  remorseless  in  their  vehement  lack  of  considera- 
tion for  the  possible  weakness  of  others.  That  is,  they 
played  with  all  their  hearts.  Only  afterwards  did 
Howard's  years  tell.  His  pace  grew  slower;  his  volley- 
ing less  certain ;  his  returns  occasionally  erratic  and  mis- 


74  SEPTEMBER 

timed.  Gradually  he  was  worn  down.  His  build  was 
against  him,  and  his  breath  grew  shorter.  He  ran  less, 
and  once  or  twice  let  a  ball  go  that  in  the  first  game  he 
would  have  returned  with  ease.  Marian's  mouth  set  more 
firmly.  They  had  lost  the  first  game,  and  won  the  second 
after  a  tremendous  struggle.  Thenceforward  she  and 
Nigel  had  the  advantage  throughout.  In  vain  did  Cherry 
try  to  cover  her  partner's  failures.  Steadily  her  radiance 
decreased,  her  small  frown  grew,  her  at  first  impercep- 
tible ejaculations  of  impatience  less  guarded.  She  ran 
and  struck  with  almost  vicious  energy.  She  did  not  lose 
well.  She  was  bent  upon  winning,  and  the  losses  were  a 
humiliation.  Her  play  grew  at  times  unscrupulous,  so 
that  Nigel's  brows  went  up  at  one  time.  She  looked  once 
with  a  shrug  to  a  missed  chance,  and  gave  her  shoulder 
to  Howard  in  evident  displeasure. 

From  where  she  stood  Marian  could  not  hear  any 
speech  between  the  partners ;  but  she  could  read  Howard's 
attitude  and  the  silent  response  of  discontent  that  Cherry 
made.  As  her  own  mouth  set  more  firmly,  so  her 
determination  for  victory  was  intensified.  It  was  not 
victory  for  victory's  sake :  it  was  quite  definitely  a  cold 
resolve  that  Cherry  should  be  beaten  and  discomfited. 
Chance  had  given  the  girl  into  her  hands  that  afternoon; 
and  she  would  not  stint  the  measure  of  her  success.  She 
herself  did  not  tire.  She  was  hot;  but  she  kept  her  head 
and  played  up  to  Nigel  as  she  could  never  in  other  cir- 
cumstances have  done.  That  game  was  to  her  symbolic 
of  the  struggle  that  was  between  them.  Cherry  had  chal- 
lenged her  with  all  the  arrogance  of  youth :  well,  Cherry 
should  understand  now,  once,  that  Marian  was  not  con- 
temptible. It  was  her  first  victory  over  the  spoiled  child. 
Let  Cherry  understand,  from  this,  that  Marian  was  not 
to  be  despised  with  impunity.  It  was  as  though  she.  had,. 
set  her  teeth. 


TENNIS  75 

The  game  continued.  It  swayed;  but  it  went  steadily 
in  favour  of  Marian  and  Nigel.  They  did  not  exchange 
glances;  they  spared  nothing  from  their  common  will  to 
victory.  It  was  not  without  significance  that  Nigel  was 
as  ruthless  to  Cherry  as  he  was  to  Howard.  He  too  was 
out  to  win.  He  was  courteous,  and  unruffled  :  but  Marian 
could  not  have  had  a  better  partner;  for  he  too  was 
resolute.  Neither  gave  respite  or  quarter.  The  end  was 
not  in  doubt. 

"  Game  .  .  .  And  sett !  "  cried  Nigel.  Instantly  his 
muscles  relaxed.  He  gathered  the  balls.  The  others  had 
to  pass  him  as  they  returned  to  the  hammock-chairs  upon 
the  fringe  of  the  lawn ;  and  Marian  was  within  earshot. 
She  saw  Cherry  stop  in  passing,  and  heard  her  small 
grudging  speech  to  him,  dictated  by  she  knew  not  what 
miserly  defiance  of  his  skill. 

"  You  play  quite  well,"  Cherry  said,  from  between  her 
teeth. 

A  moment  later  they  were  all  at  the  chairs;  and  as 
Marian  was  sitting  in  the  third  Cherry  went  deliberately 
to  the  one  which  stood  alone  upon  Marian's  farther  side. 
She  sank  into  it  without  speech,  her  face  dark  and  her 
mouth  slightly  open,  not  as  though  she  were  petulant  but 
as  though  her  chagrin  were  undisguisable.  Marian,  if 
the  men  had  not  been  there,  would  have  touched  her  hand 
— even  though  it  should  be  resentfully  withdrawn; — but 
she  could  do  nothing  but  coolly  regard  her  triumph. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Forster,"  said  Nigel,  as  he  took  the 
chair  beside  her.  "  You  were  splendid.  Splendid.  It 
was  a  fine  game." 

Howard  stood  breathing  hard  and  looking  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  You  two  played  like  giants,"  he  said,  with  an  uneasy 
glance  beyond  Marian.  "  And  Cherry  was  a  Trojan. 
I'm  afraid   I'm   not   up  to   your   form.      I   think " 


76  SEPTEMBER 

Again  that  uneasy,  almost  beseeching,  glance — "  I  think 
I  owe  my  partner  an  apology.     Sorry,  Cherry   ..." 

Cherry  made  no  reply.  She  was  looking  fixedly  into 
the  distance. 

"Ah!'  thought  Marian,  perfectly  aware  of  the  sit- 
uation. "  She  can  punish !  Yes  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  She 
can  punish  inexorably!  What  a  girl!  She's  merciless! 
She's  cruel!    What  a  girl!" 


CHAPTER  IX:  THE  EVENING 


THEY  begged  Nigel  to  stay  to  dinner;  but  he  could 
not  do  so.  He  had  promised,  he  said,  to  be  home 
again  in  time  for  the  meal.  Accordingly  they  assembled 
in  a  group — Robert  mysteriously  re-appearing  so  as  to 
have  full  opportunity  for  the  examination  of  Nigel's 
small  car.  The  good-byes  were  said,  a  sudden  whirring 
startled  the  echoes,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  listen- 
ing to  the  car's  receding  hum.  Only  then  did  Marian 
awake,  to  find  Robert  strolling  away,  and  Cherry  close 
to  her  elbow,  and  Howard  directing  a  pathetic  appeal  to 
the  figure  at  her  side.  Inexorably  Cherry  gazed  into  the 
distance,  moving  when  Marian  moved,  faun-like  in  her 
timid  eagerness  not  to  be  alone  with  Howard.  She  was 
both  stern  and  timid,  like  a  stubborn  child  already  half- 
conscious  of  naughtiness  but  nevertheless  constant  in 
cruel  resolution. 

Marian  was  torn  between  impatience  and  relief. 
Impatience  because  such  behaviour  was  inhuman;  re- 
lieved because  for  the  moment  it  removed  her  fears  to  a 
distance.  She  was  worried  and  amused,  sharply  wonder- 
ing if  Cherry  had  suddenly  awakened  to  a  sense  of 
reality  or  if  this  was  but  the  instinctive  coquetry  of  a 
shallow  nature.  More  she  could  not  read.  But  her 
very  doubt  of  Cherry  softened  her  anger  with  Howard, 
whose  case  she  saw  to  be  that  of  the  elderly  lover  who 
never  can  be  sure  of  his  triumph,  or  of  its  endurance  if 
won.    He  was  bereft  of  the  confidence  which  easy  victory 

77 


78  SEPTEMBER 

too  insubstantially  creates  and  which  has  no  stability.  He 
could  hardly  at  this  moment  disguise  his  feeling  for 
Cherry.  He  was  no  longer  sure  of  himself.  To  Marian's 
eye  he  was  grotesquely  middle-aged  and  humble — not  the 
girl's  master,  but  now  her  malleable  toy.  It  was  ridicu- 
lous !  Cherry's  power  over  him  was  beyond  disguise.  It 
was  not  now  Howard  who  enticed  the  devotion  of  an 
immature  girl ;  but  Cherry  who  dominated  the  uneasy 
male,  shamed  before  her  by  his  own  failure  in  a  manly 
sport.  If  he  had  never  played  tennis  at  all,  he  would 
have  retained  her  belief — because  a  girl  so  easily  accounts  i 
in  a  lover  for  a  lack  of  any  achievement  never  attempted.  / 
At  it  was,  Howard  had  failed,  and  Cherry's  vanity  in  him 
had  been  wounded.  Not  only  that;  for  Cherry  herself 
had  been  humiliated  by  defeat,  and  her  nature  was  clearly 
one  which  could  not  endure  defeat.  But  even  while  she 
thought  thus  intricately,  Marian  realised  that  she  was 
accounting  for  a  situation  of  which  she  was  not  yet  sure. 
The  odd,  cruel  determination  that  Cherry  was  showing 
was  another  critical  sign.  It  was  a  sign  of  stubborn- 
ness that  might  be  merely  vicious  or  the  naive  disappoint- 
ment of  a  child  whose  idol  has  been  damaged. 

"  Mooning  off  with  some  fellow.    She  does  that  ..." 
The  words  recurred  to  her.     Was  Cherry  as  experi- 
enced as  all  that  ? 

Some  ghost  of  ancient  love  for  Howard  may  have 
whispered.    Marian  had  a  quick  pity  for  him. 

ii 

The  estrangement  continued  through  dinner.  Cherry 
came  down  late,  having  evidently  delayed  so  as  to  make 
sure  that  there  would  be  at  least  a  third  person  present 
on  her  arrival.  She  did  not  look  at  Howard  during  the 
meal.  She  was  disconcertingly  not  sullen,  but  very  com- 
posed, like  a  woman  of  maturity;  and,  for  Cherry,  she 


THE  EVENING  79 

talked  a  good  deal  during  the  meal.  Had  her  talk  been 
of  a  taunting  or  a  wounding  kind  Marian  would  have 
grasped  the  situation;  but  it  was  not.  It  was  quiet  and 
assured.  Marian  knew  instinctively  that  Cherry  would 
not  suffer  Howard  to  touch  her  that  evening.  Calmly 
she  would  keep  him  at  a  distance.  She  was  immovable. 
Her  "  no  "  would  be  final — not  the  "  no  "  of  delay  and 
hesitation,  but  the  singular  and  imperious  refusal  of  a 
woman  without  mercy. 

"It's  extraordinary!"  thought  Marian.  She  herself 
knew  that  power.  She  had  herself  exercised  it.  She 
knew  that  Howard,  like  any  other  amorist,  was  cowed 
by  it.  She  knew  that  it  came  from  deep  within  the  heart 
— this  definite  denial  of  contact  or  communion.  So  she 
had  felt  in  breaking  marital  relations  with  Howard.  In 
another  woman  she  saw  its  inhumanity;  but  she  knew  it 
to  be  as  intractable  as  the  sudden  stoppage  of  a  horse 
upon  a  hill.  "  I  will  not."  Not  will  spoke,  but  instinct, 
which  is  a  thing  unconscious  in  its  workings  and  more 
powerful  than  any  resolve. 

"  When  you  go  to  London,"  Cherry  said,  addressing 
herself  exclusively  to  Marian,  "what  do  you  do?  Do 
you  dance,  or  go  to  theatres,  or  play  bridge  ...  or 
what?" 

"  We  go  to  theatres,"  Marian  explained ;  "  and  we 
go  to  see  our  friends.  Sometimes  I  go  to  a  dance;  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  these  newer  American  dances,  and  even 
the  American  style  of  waltzing,  although  they're  very 
good  exercise  for  the  muscles,  no  doubt,  are  not  very- 
pretty   ..." 

"  Oh,  they're  beautiful,"  said  Cherry.  "  At  least  .  .  . 
not  beautiful  .  .  .  They're  very  interesting  to  dance — 
if  you  get  the  right  man  to  dance  with.  Some  men  don't 
seem  to  be  able  to  dance  for  nuts.  It's  waste  of  time 
trying  to  teach  them.    Are  you  fond  of  dancing?  " 


80  SEPTEMBER 

"  The  old  dances — yes."  Marian  was  smiling  at  her 
arrogance.  It  was  so  unconcealed.  Cherry  was  so  sure 
of  her  superiority  in  the  art;  and  she  could  not  hide  her 
contempt. 

"  I'm  devoted  to  it.  You  see,  I'm  a  very  good  dancer. 
You  don't  like  doing  a  thing  unless  you  can  do  it  well, 
do  you?"  A  new,  almost  humble,  note  had  come  into 
Cherry's  voice. 

"  No.    Of  course  not." 

"  Most  people  don't  let  themselves  go  enough.  You 
ought  to  be  perfectly  limp,  and  yet  like  steel.  It's  the 
only  way  to  dance,  but  people  are  so  silly.  They  don't 
know   ..." 

Cherry's  speech  suddenly  lost  confidence.  To  Marian 
it  seemed  that  the  girl's  quick  mind  had  become  aware 
of  the  obtuseness  of  her  first  assertions.  Possibly  she 
was  afraid  of  Marian.  So  young,  and  so  sensitive,  she 
was  at  the  mercy  of  ridicule,  and  she  may  have  imagined 
in  Marian's  attentiveness  a  kind  of  hateful  gibe  that 
froze  her  thoughts.  If  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  her 
handling  of  Howard — after  all,  he  might  be  familiar 
material — there  was  a  different  atmosphere  in  her  rela- 
tions with  Marian.  Marian  was  unplumbed.  Cherry 
had  not  the  clue.  With  men  it  must  be  almost  always 
the  same  key — a  single  desire,  to  be  played  with ;  but  not 
extravagantly  variable.  A  woman  must  know  more.  So 
it  appeared  that  Cherry  was  afraid.  Her  natural  arrog- 
ance could  not  deny  to  Marian  both  grace  and  beauty. 
However  sure  Cherry  might  be  of  superiority,  she  could 
hardly  feel  reassured  in  face  of  Marian's  self-control. 
The  whole  thing  was  a  comedy,  in  which  Marian  did  not 
exult,  but  in  which  she  certainly  found  amusement. 


THE  EVENING  81 

iii 

All  this  time  Robert  had  listened  impatiently.  He  had 
touched  his  knives  and  forks;  had  re-arranged  the  nap- 
kin upon  his  knee;  had  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"What  about  the  tennis?"  he  demanded.  "Any 
good?  Was  that  chap  any  good?  He  looked  all  right; 
but  you  can't  tell." 

Cherry  frowned  at  Robert.  Her  manner  was  resent- 
ful. 

"  He  plays  better  that  you'll  ever  be  able  to  play,"  she 
observed.  "  I  don't  know  that  I'm  very  keen  on  tennis. 
It's  a   .    .    ." 

"  You  seemed  rather  keen,"  put  in  Marian,  laughingly. 
"  I'm  beginning  to  feel  tired  now.  You  gave  us  a  hard 
game,  you  know.     I'm  very  fond  of  it." 

"  You  play  well,"  Cherry  said,  judicially.  "  That's 
what  I  meant.  I'd  like  to  do  everything  well,"  she  added, 
impulsively.  "  It  makes  all  the  difference.  If  you  do 
a  thing  badly  it's    .    .    .   it's  not  very  pleasant,  is  it?  ': 

'It  isn't!"  said  Howard,  with  marked  significance. 
She  did  not  heed  him,  but  continued  : 

"  I'd  like  to  ride  and  drive  well.  I  can  drive ;  but  I 
can't  ride.  I  can  drive  a  car.  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Sinclair 
would  let  me  drive  his.     I  could  soon  learn  it." 

"  Yes,  and  smash  it  up,  too,"  interpolated  Robert. 
"  I  could  drive  that  car.  I've  driven  a  car  like  that. 
One  of  our  chaps — Wentworth — his  father's  a  doctor, 
and  he's  got  one  of  the  same  kind.  A  bit  bigger,  of 
course,  not  a  two-seater   ..." 

The  talk  went  away  before  Robert's  technical  dis- 
quisition. Howard  sat  through  it,  gloomy  and  distrait, 
showing  by  the  puzzled  frown  upon  his  whole  face  he 
was  half-inclined  to  sulk.  He  had  tried  to  recover  his 
position,  and  had  failed.     What  a  difference  from  the 


82  SEPTEMBER 

situation  of  only  four  hours  earlier !  With  quickly  closed 
eyes  Marian  visualised  that  scene  in  the  wood.  The 
recollection  was  so  clear  that  it  made  her  sigh.  And  she 
sighed  again  at  the  knowledge  of  Cherry's  present  self- 
possession.  A  faint  aversion  stole  through  her  conscious- 
ness. In  that  instant  she  was  aware  of  dislike  for  this 
girl,  that  passed  as  soon  as  it  was  recognised.  It  passed 
because,  however  cruel  Cherry  might  be,  and  however 
selfish  and  experimental,  she  was  obviously  clean,  and 
not  the  sentimentalist  who  would  have  aroused  distaste. 
It  was  her  cleanness  and  her  health,  rather  than  her 
prettiness,  that  kept  Cherry  still  pure  in  Marian's  eyes. 

iv 

After  dinner  Marian  saw  Howard  go  to  Cherry's  side ; 
but  he  could  say  nothing,  because  the  girl  turned  instantly 
to  Marian.  The  eyes  of  the  two  met  for  a  second,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  there  was  the  smallest  possible  ap- 
peal to  be  read  in  Cherry's  glance.  Marian  answered  it 
at  once.  After  all,  might  that  not  be  the  solution  of  this 
affair?  During  the  evening  they  were  never  apart. 
When  they  went  out  together  in  the  garden  their  arms 
were  linked,  and  Howard  remained  indoors. 

They  walked  slowly  about  the  garden.  Once,  when 
their  steps  had  turned  without  purpose  in  the  direction 
of  the  little  wood,  Marian  was  conscious  of  a  drag  upon 
her  arm,  and  an  obvious  unwillingness  on  the  part  of 
Cherry  to  go  that  way.  Was  it  because  the  place  was 
sacred  ?  Or  because  a  feeling  of  repulsion  had  arisen  in 
the  girl's  heart?  Was  their  silence  to  be  one  of  conceal- 
ment? Or  was  there  to  be  a  small  confession?  Marian 
did  not  know  which  to  hope  for.  In  one  way  a  subdued 
voice,  and  a  hesitating  but  not  indiscreet  avowal,  would 
have  been  a  relief ;  but  perhaps  Marian  did  not  want  that  ? 
She  was  not  sure.    Perhaps  the  mere  thought  of  the  pos- 


THE  EVENING  83 

sibility  was  conventional  .  .  .  Ought  she  herself  to 
say  anything?  How  difficult  it  was,  with  an  unknown 
character  such  as  Cherry's! 

The  darkness  closed  upon  them,  warm  and  fragrant. 
The  night  was  there,  and  the  faint  sounds  of  the  trees 
were  all  they  heard.  There  was  no  emotion  between 
them,  no  love,  no  hate, — only  a  suspense.  Neither  was  in 
the  least  aware  of  the  other's  thoughts.  Both  were 
mysteries — Marian  a  mystery  to  Cherry;  Cherry  a  my- 
stery to  both  Marian  and  herself.  Marian  felt  that  a 
hundred  years  of  life  had  made  her  old.  How  old — how 
really  old — was  Cherry  ?  Had  she  any  age  at  all  ?  Was 
she  a  child,  a  woman,  an  impulse,  a  wanton?  It  was 
insoluble. 


Startlingly,  as  though  they  had  been  groping  through 
the  same  impenetrable  forests,  Cherry  put  a  personal 
conviction  into  words. 

"  Isn't  it  funny  how  women  have  to  work  in  the  dark," 
she  said.  "  They  have  to  guess  such  a  lot.  They  can't 
know   ...     It  all  goes  on  in  their  thoughts." 

"  Yes,"  Marian  answered,  in  a  moment.  "  Sometimes 
they  do  more  than  guess." 

"How  d'you  mean?"  The  muffled  voice  gave  no 
hint  that  Cherry  was  applying  the  words  to  herself; 
but  Marian  could  be  sure  of  nothing  in  this  dim  light. 

"  Sometimes  they  see  things  .  .  .  notice  them. 
Then  all  their  thoughts  hurry  to  the  place  and  supply 
interpretations.  Sometimes  they're  wrong  interpreta- 
tions. 

'  Very  often,  I  should  think,"  said  Cherry,  quickly. 

"  It  depends  on  the  woman." 

"  I  suppose  it  does.  I  think  women  are  horrible  .  .  . 
sometimes." 


84  SEPTEMBER 

"  So   do   I,"   observed   Marian,   drily.    She   presently 
added :  "  All  human  beings,  of  course :  both  men  and 
women.     But  I  think  perhaps  women  get  morbid.     They 
don't  trust,  and  they  conceal,  and  get  insincere.     It's  so  \ 
i    easy  to  get  pushed  off  a  clear  path  and  into  the  under-/ 
\  growth.     And  then  they  lose  their  nerve." 

"  Yes.  It's  beastly  to  lose  your  nerve.  Do  they,  with 
men?    Or  only  with  other  women?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  There  was  quite  a  long  silence.  Just 
as  when  one  looks  fixedly  into  the  darkness  the  degree  of 
opacity  seems  by  some  optical  fact  or  illusion  to  vary, 
so  it  seemed  to  Marian  that  her  sight  of  Cherry's  heart 
cleared  or  was  obscured  each  instant.  When  Cherry 
spoke  again  her  voice  was  beautifully  warm  and  intimate. 

"  I  don't  trust  people  enough,"  she  said.  "  There  are 
all  sorts  of  reasons." 

"  It's  very  hard,"  Marian  agreed.  "  I  try  to  trust 
them,  because — well,  everybody  knows  that  it's  only 
by  loving  people  that  one  learns  to  understand  them.  It's 
difficult  to  love  anybody  who  doesn't  trust  you.  Of 
course,  I  don't  mean  ...  By  trust,  I  don't  mean  that 
one  wants  them  to  be  liquid.  That's  horrible.  Some 
women  pour  out  all  sorts  of  gush,  and  that's  a  great 
obstacle  to  loving  them.  Still,  I  do  think  there  might  be 
more  happiness  in  the  world  if  one  could  be  less  suspicious 
of  good  faith.  One  is  so  beastly  in  making  up  one's  mind 
too  soon.  One  interprets  and  misinterprets  actions  and 
little  speeches  ...  I  don't  think  I  do;  but  I  can't  be 
sure." 

"  You  know,"  Cherry  said.  "  You  speak  so  much  more 
easily  than  I  can  do — I  mean,  without  .  .  .  It's  not 
exactly  what  I  mean ;  but  there's  a  phrase  '  giving  your- 
self away.'  However  much  you  say,  there's  always  some- 
thing behind.  There's  always  something — one  knows — 
that  you  don't  say.    I  should  like  to  be  like  that." 


THE  EVENING  85 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be.  You're  not  as  old  as 
I  am.    With  more  experience " 

"  Oh,  I've  had  lots  of  experience.  Too  much,  of  some 
kinds.     I  see  things  too  clearly." 

It  was  an  abrupt  speech,  almost  reckless  in  its  im- 
pulse, with  a  very  unyouthful  harshness  of  tone  that 
wounded  the  hearer  by  its  rough  self-contempt. 

"  I  meant — assimilated  experience,"  Marian  urged, 
controlling  herself. 

'  I  wonder,"  mused  Cherry.  "  It's  a  funny  thing — 
I  trust  you;  and  yet  not  in  everything.  I  should  be 
afraid  of  what  you  might  think  of  me;  but  I  know  you 
wouldn't  misunderstand  me." 

:<  No.  I  don't  misunderstand  people,"  Marian  said, 
gravely. 

'  You  haven't  done  the  things  I've  done;  but  you  know 
more  than  I  do." 

"  I'm  older." 

"It  isn't  that!"  Cherry's  arm  jerked  impatiently. 
"  It's  your  nature." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  useful  reply  to  be  made  at  that 
instant;  but  Marian,  conning  the  speech,  said  a  moment 
later : 

"  My  dear,  every  heart  knows  its  own  seeking.  I've 
suffered  a  good  deal  in  my  life,  and  that's  why  I  know 
a  good  many  things.  But  you  think  you  have  impulses 
I  don't  understand.  Nothing  I  could  say  would  con- 
vince you  that  I  can  understand,  because  we  all  think 
ourselves  superior  to  our  fellows  in  something  or  other." 
'  Superior,"  said  Cherry.  "  I  suppose  that's  it.  I'm 
very  thoughtless  and  selfish." 

1  Yes."  Marian's  reply  wounded  her  companion,  as 
she  instantly  knew.  She  went  on :  "  Those  are  superficial 
things.  Thoughtfulness  of  others  is  often  only  a  kind 
of  creeping  indifference  to  them.     It's  a  form  of  self- 


86  SEPTEMBER 

gratification.  In  doing  things  for  others  one  sometimes 
increases  one's  sense  of  superiority  to  them." 

Cherry  listened  with  all  her  eager,  childish  attention. 

"  If  you  love  them,"  she  urged.  "  I'm  very  affection- 
ate. I  like  people  very  easily,  and  get  tired  of  them  very 
quickly.     I'm  restless  and   .    .    .   rather  beastly." 

"Well,  if  you're  honest  ..."  Marian  turned  to- 
wards the  house.  "  If  you're  honest  that's  not  necessarily 
a  bad  thing.  I'm  rather  tired  of  the  cultivated  '  nice  ' 
girl,  who  is  so  unselfish,  and  so  thoughtful  of  others. 
If  she's  sincere,  she's  liable  to  be  rather  stupid ;  and  if 
she's  insincere  she's  worse  than  most  other  climbers.  I 
believe  in  character.  I'd  rather  have  a  man  or  a  girl  who 
/is  honest  with  herself,  even  if  he  or  she  has  many  faults, 
I  than  one  who  is  always  posing.  A  girl  who  worships  the 
1  legend  of  her  own  goodness  or  attractiveness  or  straight- 
ness  is  very  unpleasant  to  me.  But  I  think  you  have 
very  quick  impulses,  and  very  quick  self-contempt,  and 
that  you  have  the  capacity  to  suffer  a  good  deal.  If 
you  can  endure,  then  I  think  you'll  be  a  very  noble 
woman." 

There  was  another  silence — the  faintest  little  tug  of 
Marian's  arm.    Then  a  moved,  rather  hopeless  voice  said  : 

"You  think  I  can't  endure?  " 

"  I  think  you  may.     I  hope  you  will." 

"  No.  I  shan't.  I'm  not  strong  enough.  I'm  too 
selfish." 

Marian  pressed  the  young  arm  close  to  her  side,  em- 
phatic in  her  turn. 

"  That's  to  be  seen.  I  think  everything  is  possible  to 
you.     But  only  if  you  wish  it." 

"You  don't  know  about  me!"  It  was  almost  pas- 
sionate. "  I  want  so  many  things.  I  want  them  and 
want  them   .    .    .   hard.    Now." 

"  If  you  want  a  thing — I  hate  to  be  such  a  wise-acre ; 


THE  EVENING  87 

but  I  must  tell  you  this  ...  If  you  want  anything 
on  earth,  it's  worth  waiting  for.  If  you  want  it 
enough  you  get  it,"  asserted  Marian,  moved  and 
reassuring. 

"  Now  when  you  want  it,  though.  No,  no.  And  even 
then  .  .  .  it's  .  .  .  You  don't  get  it.  And,  besides, 
I  can't  wait.  I'm  like  sand,  or  water.  I  shall  never  get 
what  I  want.    Not  what  I  want  most  of  all." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Marian  asked. 

"  I  think  it's  tranquillity.  It's  what  you  seem  to  have. 
Perhaps  you  haven't  got  it?  You  seem  to  have  such 
composure."  Cherry's  voice  was  very  low,  as  though 
she  were  a  little  confused,  but  pushed  by  her  urgent  need 
of  sincerity  in  their  present  conversation.  Marian 
thought — it  swept  her  mind  like  a  dust  storm :  She  was 
in  Howard's  arms  so  short  a  time  ago !  But  the  thought 
did  not  stay.  It  passed  as  suddenly  as  it  came,  leaving 
her  unblanched.  "  Yes  you  have.  I'd  give  anything 
to  have  that.  D'you  know  that  I'm  twenty  different  peo- 
ple in  five  minutes?  I've  been  many  just  while  we've 
been  talking.  But  you've  never  changed  at  all.  All  the 
time  you've  been  the  same.  Always  your  face  to 
me  .  .  ." 

"  That  isn't  true.  I've  changed  as  often  as  you.  You 
can't  read  my  heart." 

"  Thank  God  you  can't  read  mine ! '  cried  Cherry, 
gaspingly.  Her  arm  trembled.  It  was  half  withdrawn. 
In  a  sober  voice  she  went  on,  like  a  child  confessing : 
"  But  you  can  read  mine  .  .  .  sometimes.  Sometimes 
you  can  read  all  I  feel.  I  can  tell  that.  I  can't  hide 
from  you."  To  herself  she  was  supplementary,  reassur- 
ing her  vanity.  "  Not  always,  though."  Her  voice  had 
changed  again.  It  was  quite  hard.  But  the  hardness  was 
passing,  a  chill  upon  the  eager  heart,  now  too  full  to 
recover  discretion  at  will.    Forced  from  her  was  the  next 


88  SEPTEMBER 

speech,  almost  of  agony.  "  Oh,  if  only  my  mother  had 
been  like  you.     If  only  she  had!  " 

She  stood  quite  still,  and  her  forehead  for  a  moment 
rested  upon  Marian's  shoulder,  and  Marian's  other  arm 
protectingly  about  her.  There  were  no  tears;  but  their 
moods  were  not  then  apart,  for  Marian's  sympathy  was 
fully  given  and  Cherry's  reliance  upon  it  for  this  instant 
unquestioning.  So  they  stood,  until  Cherry  stood  up- 
right once  more. 

"  I've  been  silly,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  that  held  a 
sort  of  ashamed  laugh. 

"  No,"  answered  Marian,  gravely.  "  Not  silly."  They 
both  smiled  in  the  darkness,  although  Cherry's  head  was 
turned  away.  Mechanically  they  both  moved  forward, 
and  again  stood  looking  out  across  the  meadows. 

"  Aren't  I  funny !  "  whispered  Cherry.  "  You're  not 
funny." 

"  At  any  rate  I'm  not  unfunny,"  protested  Marian. 

"  Oh  .  .  .  You're  quite  splendid.  I  know.  Some- 
how I  wish  you  weren't  so  splendid,  because  then  I 
shouldn't  feel  ashamed  before  you." 

There  was  no  possible  answer  to  this,  except  the  smile 
Marian  returned.  That  it  was  seen,  and  appreciated, 
she  had  no  doubt,  for  Cherry's  eyes  were  sharp  as  a  little 
bird's.  In  silence  they  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house. 
Cherry  pressed  so  close  and  hugged  her  arm  so  tightly 
that  Marian  could  feel  through  the  girl's  thin  bodice  the 
warmth  of  her  soft  breast.  There  was  no  need  for  any 
further  speech.  What  was  to  be  said  between  them  had 
been  said,  and  more  would  have  been  useless.  Cherry 
had  spoken  of  nothing  that  could  be  supposed  to  refer  to 
Howard ;  but  she  had  opened  her  heart.  And  in  Marian's 
philosophy  no  good  action  and  no  good  impulse — not 
even  the  impulse  that  produced  an  offer  of  love  and  trust 
and  sympathy — could  ever  be  lost.     She  was  content. 


CHAPTER  X:  SATURDAY 


THE  two  had  been  so  long  in  the  garden  that  Howard 
had  gone  to  bed  by  the  time  they  reached  the  house, 
and  their  own  parting  was  immediate.  For  just  an  in- 
stant they  were  close  together,  and  they  kissed  quickly. 
Cherry  did  not  allow  her  eyes  to  be  seen,  but  vanished 
up  the  stairs  like  a  fairy.  Robert  followed.  Marian  was 
left  alone  to  close  the  French  window  and  to  extinguish 
the  light.  Then  she  too  went  upstairs,  and  undressed  in 
the  darkness,  hearing  about  her,  as  she  had  done  during 
all  their  talk,  the  soft  swishing  of  the  wind  among  the 
leaves.  The  moon  was  very  bright,  high  in  the  sky ;  but 
it  did  not  shine  farther  into  the  room  than  Marian's 
dressing-table.  In  the  bow  window  there  was  a  square 
whiteness,  very  brilliant  and  very  cold,  like  truth  un- 
sentimentalised. 

For  perhaps  an  hour  Marian  lay  awake,  thinking  of 
the  events  of  that  day.  She  thought  less  now  of  these 
than  of  her  own  part  in  them.  The  fact  that  she  had 
been  made  to  feel  more  acutely  than  usual  was  apparent 
to  her,  and  she  was  exhilarated  by  the  knowledge.  So 
it  was  not  true  that  emotion  or  the  power  of  emotion 
died.  Emotion  and  the  power  to  feel  and  to  evoke  it 
were  ageless.  She  was  almost  excited,  her  thoughts 
thronging  her  mind  like  characters  in  a  dream.  She  was 
full  of  vibrations  and  responses  to  all  these  impressions 
of  the  day.  Even  at  this  moment  she  did  not  suppose  that 
an  episode  had  been  finished  by  her  talk  with  Cherry. 
It  was  clear  that  she  was  only  at  the  beginning  of  some 

89 


90  SEPTEMBER 

thing  the  character  of  which  she  had  not  distinctly  seen. 
She  was  thus  moved,  not  only,  or  so  much,  by  the  events, 
but  by  expectation  of  the  future.  The  days  to  come 
held  more  than  the  day  that  had  passed.  The  morning, 
the  talk  about  Cherry  with  Robert,  the  glimpse  in  the 
wood,  the  possible  sequels  and  her  vehement  doubtings, 
the  coming  of  Nigel.    .    .    . 

Of  course,  it  was  Nigel  who  had  changed  the  whole 
face  of  the  day.  How  odd  that  she  had  not  realised  that! 
She  smiled  again,  exultantly,  at  the  tennis  victory.  If 
he  had  been  a  poor  player  all  might  have  been  different. 
They  might  have  lost.  The  emotion  could  hardly  have 
been  aroused  as  it  had  been  by  the  game  that  had  been 
played.  And  yet  perhaps  the  situation  would  not  have 
been  so  wholly  different;  for  in  that  case  the  battle  be- 
tween herself  and  Cherry  would  have  been  simply  more 
apparent  to  both.    Marian's  lips  set. 

All  the  same,  the  thought  of  Nigel,  when  it  came,  gave 
Marian  distinct  pleasure.  She  was  glad  he  played  well. 
She  was  glad  of  many  things  about  him.  He  engaged 
her  interest.  Her  last  conscious  thought  before  she  fell 
asleep  was  of  him. 

"  How  funny  that  he  should  have  come  over  this  after- 
noon !    How  nice !  " 

She  dreamed  of  Howard  as  he  had  been  and  as  he  was 
no  longer. 

ii 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  Early  in  the  morning 
Marian  awoke  to  find  the  sun  burning  through  a  thin 
haze,  preparing  for  a  day  hotter  than  any  they  had  yet 
had.  It  was  a  beautifulmorning,  and  the  songs  of  the 
/birds  made  a  volume  of  sound  that  was  almost  oppressive. 
Far  above  she  could  hear  the  lark ;  starlings  and  finches 
were  piping ;  thrushes,  that  ran  creepingly  upon  the  lawn 


SATURDAY  91 

near  the  house,  sang  thrillingly.  Little  wagtails  were 
darting  about  near  the  house  with  a  movement  closely 
akin  to  that  of  mice.  It  was  a  great  cluster  of  music. 
She  could  not  stay  in  bed,  but  bathed  and  dressed  and 
was  in  the  garden  before  seven  o'clock.  Even  so  early 
the  dew  was  almost  gone,  and  bees  were  already  busy 
among  the  flowers.  Everywhere  else  there  seemed  noth- 
ing but  silence.  Now  she  was  out-of-doors  the  earty- 
morning  noises  of  the  house  were  forgotten,  and  she 
could  stroll  gently  through  the  garden  sure  of  solitude 
and  peace.  The  light  wind  was  both  sweet  and  searching. 
It  was  part  of  the  day's  beauty. 

An  hour  passed.  She  looked  back  towards  the  house, 
and  saw  that  Cherry,  lured  as  she  had  been  by  the  ex- 
treme radiance,  was  coming  impetuously  towards  her. 
The  girl's  face  was  flushed  and  lovely,  her  eyes  clear, 
her  lips  parted.  At  the  sight  of  her,  Marian's  heart  soft- 
ened, and  she  moved  forward  for  the  greeting.  Together 
they  went  back  to  look  at  some  roses  which,  having  been 
buds  yesterday,  were  to-day  in  perfection — long  slim 
flowers,  not  fully  opened,  but  rich  with  scent  and  tenderly 
yielding  their  secrets  to  such  reverent  eyes.  Standing 
alone,  with  lowered  heads,  Marian  and  Cherry  were  as 
charming  as  the  flowers.  Both  so  fair,  both  so  graceful, 
they  annihilated  the  years  between  them,  and  were 
strangely  alike.  If  Cherry  was  more  piquante,  Marian 
was  taller  and  her  carriage  better.  They  were  unob- 
served, and  in  repose.  In  their  hearts  there  was  no  small- 
est feeling  of  difference  or  comparison.  It  was  the 
morning's  work,  this  uncommon  unity  and  happiness. 
They  were  seriously  smiling  with  pleasure  and  interest 
in  the  disclosed  beauty  of  the  flowers  they  loved.  In  ac- 
cord they  moved  presently  away,  no  word  being  spoken, 
and  turned  towards  the  sun,  walking  slowly  and  at  ease. 

The  larks  mounted  higher.     Their  songs  became  re- 


92  SEPTEMBER 

mote  exultations  amid  the  heavy  blue  atmosphere.  Far- 
ther and  farther  away  they  climbed,  invisible  to  the  eye, 
all  heart  and  song.  For  a  moment  these  two  stopped 
and  looked  up,  shading  their  eyes  with  raised  hands. 
It  was  a  morning  of  entire  fairness,  unspoiled  by  cloud 
or  dust. 

•  •  • 

in 

Back  in  the  house,  they  found  Howard  and  Robert, 
standing  at  the  door  and  surveying  the  scene  with  non- 
chalance. But  while  the  nonchalance  of  Robert  was  true, 
Marian  could  see  the  disquiet  of  her  husband  at  such  ap- 
parent sympathy  between  herself  and  Cherry.  He  shot 
a  hostile  and  suspicious  glance  at  herself,  the  nick  in  his 
forehead  betraying  his  puzzled  annoyance.  Suspicion 
lurked  also  in  his  longer  glance  at  Cherry.  But  it  was  for 
Marian  that  his  expression  of  hostility  was  reserved. 
How  strange  men  were!  Howard  was  jealous  here,  not 
of  another  man,  but  of  Marian.  Marian  could  have 
laughed  in  his  face,  so  bovine  was  his  look,  and  so  easily 
read  his  perturbation.  And  as  soon  as  she  had  had  this 
inclination  for  laughter  she  felt  again  that  pity  for  him 
which  had  come  to  her  on  the  previous  day. 

"  What  an  immoral  woman  I  must  be !  "  she  thought. 
"  To  feel  sorry  for  my  husband  because  he's  in  love  with 
somebody  else.  I  ought  to  be  angry  with  him.  I  ought 
to  despise  him  passionately.  I  ought  to  make  a  scene." 
She  sighed.  Then :  "  If  I  loved  him,  I  suppose  I  should 
do  all  those  things — except  make  a  scene.  I  wonder  how 
one  makes  a  scene!  One  feels  choking,  I  expect,  and 
some  little  thing  happens  that  brings  everything  else 
tumbling  down  into  a  violent  wish  to  break  and  break 
and  break — to  kill,  and  destroy  ...  I  wish  I'd  got  a 
strong  anger,  instead  of  this  .  .  .  whatever  it  is  that 
makes  me  feel  sorry  for  the  people  who  seem  to  me  to 


SATURDAY  93 

be  stupid.  I  wish  I  loved  Howard  with  all  my  heart. 
Then  I  shouldn't  be  observing  him,  but  passionately  feel- 
ing resentment  ...  I  wonder  how  long  ago  I  left  off 
loving  him.  And  have  I  ever  left  off  loving  him  at 
all  ?  He's  like  my  stupid  selfish  baby,  and  I'm  his  mother 
— inhumanly  playing  at  being  just,  when  I'm  only  in- 
different. 

They  went  into  the  house,  and  into  the  cool  room  where 
breakfast  was  laid;  and  the  only  clue  there  was  to  the 
unusual  state  of  affairs  lay  in  Howard's  frown.  Cherry 
was  perfectly  happy,  as  though  mischief  and  care  and 
temptation  were  remote  from  her  nature.  Yet  Marian 
saw  that  she  was  being  very  mischievous,  cruelly  sure  of 
her  power  over  Howard. 

iv 

Howard  frowned  through  the  meal,  heavily  repress- 
ing their  efforts  at  talk,  and  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over 
he  went  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him 
with  a  firmness  that  appeared  final.  His  departure  was 
a  relief  to  them  all.     Even  Robert  remarked  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  deliberately.  "  I  think  I'll  have  some 
more  bread.  And  some  more  marmalade,  if  you  don't 
mind,  auntie."  He  had  previously  refused  more  coffee, 
a  refusal  he  now  reconsidered.  "  Somehow  I  didn't  like 
to  have  it  before.  I  felt  uncle  would  have  .  .  . 
wouldn't  have  liked  me  to." 

He  ate  with  enormous  relish. 

"  You'll  be  sick,"  Cherry  warned  him. 

"  No,"  he  contradicted.  "  Anyway,  it  won't  interfere 
with  you.  I  suppose  you're  going  out  walking  again, 
and  back  again  in  time  for  lunch." 

Cherry's  cheeks  were  pinker. 

'  No,  I'm  not,"  she  said,  "  I'll  stay  and  play  with  you, 
if  you  like." 


94  SEPTEMBER 

It  was  a  successful  gibe,  for  it  silenced  Robert  upon 
that  point  at  least. 

"  Funny  things,  girls,"  he  observed,  turning  to  Marian. 
"  They've  got  very  short  tempers,  most  of  them.  It's 
vanity,  you  know,  auntie.  They  don't  like  having  their 
legs  pulled — being  teased,  I  mean.  They  '  don't  think 
they  like  it.'     Well,  why?" 

"  They  like  to  be  taken  seriously,"  suggested  Marian. 

"  Exactly.  Unless  they've  been  naughty.  Then  they 
howl  about  only  being  little  girls,  and  not  knowing  and 
not  meaning  .  .  .  Etcetera !  I'd  like  people  to  be  able 
to  say  E.T.C.  I  don't  know  why  you  should  have  the 
trouble  of  saying  words  in  full." 

Cherry,  who  had  evidently  been  reminded  of  some  cele- 
brated excuse  made  by  herself,  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
abandon  the  privilege  of  retaliation.  With  heightened 
colour,  but  a  strange  glittering  calm,  she  quietly 
said : 

"  You  never  do  say  things  in  full,  Robert.  You  run 
all  your  words  together.    That's  why  you  talk  so  badly." 

"  So  do  you,  if  it  comes  to  that.  And  through  your 
nose,  too." 

Indignant  protests  arose  from  his  companions. 

"  Robert !  Robert !  "  remonstrated  Marian.  "  That's 
most  horribly  rude." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  carried  a  little  too  far,"  apologised 
Robert,  unruffled.  "  But  Cherry's  so  beastly  conceited. 
She's  so  cock-sure.  And  the  girl's  conceit  .  .  .  it's 
incredible!  " 

"  Yes,"  Cherry  startlingly  agreed.  "  It's  quite  true." 
In  an  instant  her  bright  face  had  clouded.  All  her  native 
good  temper  was ,  shown,  and  her  intrinsic  modesty. 
Nevertheless,  as  Robert  had  said,  she  was  arrogant. 

"  She  thinks  nothing's  good  enough  for  her.  Oh,  I 
tell  you,  auntie,  I  know  Cherry  most  awfully  well.    You 


SATURDAY  95 

see,  I've  known  her  for  years.  Don't  you  let  her  take 
you  in." 

"  Don't  listen  to  him!  "  begged  Cherry  turning  eagerly 
to  Marian. 

"I'm  not!  I'm  not!"  Marian  was  as  eager  in  re- 
assurance. 

"  But  it's  true  all  the  same,"  admitted  Cherry,  ruefully. 

"  She's  not  reliable.  She  never  sticks  to  anything. 
She'll  be  as  sweet  as  syrup  one  minute,  and  a  tricksy 
devil  the  next.     She's   ..." 

"  Let  me  find  it  out  for  myself !  "  Marian  begged.  The 
boy's  candour  was  too  disconcerting  for  her  present 
mood.  Her  thoughts  had  gone  after  Howard.  She  was 
wondering  where  he  was,  and  how  she  could  deal  with 
him.  And  Robert's  warnings  were  not  unheeded,  for 
although  she  now  wanted  only  to  remember  the  Cherry 
of  her  recent  understanding  there  was  a  hint  of  such 
sagacity  in  what  had  just  been  said,  and  of  such  admission 
in  the  way  it  had  been  received,  that  she  could  not  help 
wondering  how  far  she  could  trust  Cherry.  That  How- 
ard was  puzzled  and  resentful  she  knew.  How  soon  might 
it  not  be  that  she  also  would  feel  puzzled  and  resent- 
ful? 

With  a  common  impulse  they  rose  from  the  table. 
Robert  and  Cherry  were  left  together  while  Marian  went 
about  the  day's  housekeeping  affairs;  and  when  she  re- 
turned it  was  to  find  Cherry  and  Howard  sitting  together 
on  wicker  chairs  in  the  slim  shadow  cast  by  a  wing  of 
the  house. 


That  Howard  was  half-soothed  could  quickly  be  seen. 
He  rose  when  Marian  arrived,  and  brought  a  third  chair 
so  that  she  could  join  them;  but  this  action  was  only 
a  proof  of  his  lesser  chagrin,  and  she  could  not  learn 


96  SEPTEMBER 

whether  he  had  attempted  any  explanation  with  Cherry 
or  not.  She  supposed  he  had  expostulated  and  been 
received  with  kindness.  More,  if  indeed  there  had  been 
so  much,  she  could  not  discover. 

They  sat  in  the  shadow,  talking  or  reading,  until  it  was 
time  for  the  Sinclairs  to  arrive.  Once  or  twice  Howard 
had  risen,  and  possibly  had  tried  mutely  to  persuade 
Cherry  to  go  with  him;  but  upon  each  occasion  he  had 
reseated  himself,  as  the  result  either  of  refusal  or — more 
probably — of  deliberate  blindness,  and  so  their  order  was 
unchanged  when  the  sound  of  the  arriving  car  made  it- 
self heard.  Then  only  did  they  all  leave  their  chairs, 
so  as  to  greet  the  visitors. 

The  Sinclairs  came  cheerfully  into  the  house  and  out 
into  the  garden,  complaining  of  the  heat  and  the  journey, 
the  flies  and  the  sunshine;  and  Marian,  coming  last  with 
Nigel,  heard  Cherry  laugh  with  irrepressible  gaiety  at 
Tom  Sinclair's  description  of  the  morning's  ills.  Cherry 
looked  back  at  her  with  a  bright,  gleeful  face,  as  though 
they  had  been  old  friends,  and  Nigel  suddenly  said,  in 
an  almost  breathless  way  : 

"  I  say,  isn't  she  pretty !    I  didn't  notice  it  yesterday !  " 

It  was  so  ingenuous  that  Marian  also  laughed  a  little. 

"  You  saw  her  as  your  enemy,  then,"  she  reminded 
him.    "  That  makes  all  the  difference." 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  in  a  reflective  tone.  "  Does  Miss 
Mant  vary  much?  " 

Marian  was  surprised  at  his  question,  that  showed  a 
judgment  she  had  hardly  expected.  Really,  these  young 
people  were  astonishingly  hard  to  assimilate ! 

"  Every  minute,"  she  assured  him. 

"  She's  been  with  you,  to-day,"  said  Nigel,  summarily. 
"  It's  a  wonderful  difference.  Didn't  you  know  that  you 
affect  everybody  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know,  certainlv,  that  I  changed  their  faces," 
she  teased.     She  stole  a  side  look  at  him  as  he  walked 


SATURDAY  97 

by  her  side.  The  slim  figure  was  clearly  very  strong,  as 
she  now  saw;  and  while  it  was  not  ruddy  he  had  no 
disagreeable  pallor,  and  the  brightness  of  his  eyes  and 
the  crispness  of  his  hair  were  sufficient  proof  of  health. 
How  had  she  been  made  to  think  of  him  as  a  young 
artist?  His  hair  was  not  short,  but  many  men  wore 
their  hair  long  who  made  no  pretence  that  they  were  in 
anything  but  business.  Indeed,  the  modern  professional 
artist  went  almost  to  the  point  of  having  his  hair  cut 
brutally  short.  There  was  nothing  effeminate  about 
Nigel.  He  was  not  dreamy,  and  he  had  no  mannerisms ; 
he  spoke  with  clearness  and  moved  with  grace.  He  was 
obviously  a  very  fit  young  man,  and  if  he  could  make 
her  heart  swell  by  his  playing  of  Chopin  that  must  be 
one  talent  among  many.  He  was  not  simply  a  pianist  and 
a  critic  of  men,  but  an  athlete  and  a  man  of  common- 
sense.  For  an  instant  she  was  timid.  He  seemed  beyond 
the  range  of  her  comprehension.  Only,  however,  for 
a  minute.  He  resumed,  thoughtfully,  after  another 
glance  at  Cherry : 

"  I  think  you're  very  wonderful,  you  know.  Your 
sympathies  are  so  wide.  You  can  make  me  feel  I'm 
worth  something;  and  you  can  make  Miss  Mant  feel 
she's  a  real  person ;  and  you  make  my  aunt  garrulous ;  and 
my  uncle  says  you're  the  only  woman  in  these  parts 
(except  my  aunt,  of  course,  and  different  from  her). 
And  I  can  say  this  to  you  without  feeling  impertinent, 
and  I  couldn't  do  that  to  anybody  else — even  if  I  thought 
it  of  anybody  else." 

Marian  felt  a  little  hot.  She  again  glanced  aside  at 
him,  smiling. 

"  It's  because  I'm  so  negative,  I  expect.  If  it's  true," 
she  added. 

"Of  course,  it's  true.  And  its  because  you're  a  posi- 
tive.   .    ." 

"  It's  tremendously  jolly  to  have  it  described,"  Marian 


98  SEPTEMBER 

concluded ;  but  she  did  not  want  to  continue  talking  on 
this  subject,  because  what  Nigel  had  said  had  made  her 
feel  such  a  start  of  happiness  in  her  whole  being.  So 
they  followed  the  others  more  closely,  and  presently  came 
up  with  them  and  formed  a  group,  until  the  distant 
sound  of  a  gong  called  them  all  in  to  luncheon,  gaily  talk- 
ing and  full  of  high  spirits  that  would  have  made  any 
meal-time  pleasant. 

vi 

Nigel  was  not  the  only  one  of  the  visitors  to  be  struck 
with  Cherry's  appearance,  for  Mrs.  Sinclair  quickly 
commented  in  an  undertone  as  she  entered  the  room  by 
Marian's  side.  In  a  whisper,  she  expressed  her  favour- 
able opinion. 

"Where  did  you  find  her,  Marian?  She's  perfectly 
charming!  " 

In  reply  Marian  smiled  only:  Cherry  was  too  near  to 
allow  of  any  reply.  Besides,  what  was  there  to  say?  An 
echo  of  the  praise,  an  explanation  that  Cherry  was  the 
daughter  of  a  friend  quite  unknown  to  Mrs.  Sinclair; 
and  then — what  then  ?  Certainly,  Marian  could  not  have 
entered  into  the  details  of  her  own  questionings.  To 
have  done  this  would  have  been  to  leave  her  friend  gasp- 
ing and  uncomfortable;  and  as  she  had  not  made  up  her 
own  mind  on  the  subject  she  could  not  risk  giving  an  im- 
pression which  might  have  to  be  revised.  More,  how- 
ever, was  to  follow.  Katherine  Sinclair,  cheerful  busy- 
body though  she  might  be,  was  electrifyingly  swift  in  her 
perceptions. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Howard,  rubicund  but  not 
yet  quite  composed.  There  was  a  frown  dawning  upon 
his  brow ;  restless  movements  of  his  hands  and  should- 
ers betrayed  his  mental  unease.  Upon  his  right  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  regarding  Cherry  with  warm  and  encouraging 


SATURDAY  99 

pleasure.  Cherry  was  exactly  opposite.  If  she  had 
wanted  to  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Sinclair  it  ap- 
peared that  her  curiosity  had  been  quickly  satisfied,  for 
she  took  that  lady  in  as  one  of  the  party  and  not  as  an 
individual.  Beside  her  sat  Tom  Sinclair,  very  rueful  in 
manner  but  extremely  sly  and  jocose  in  remark.  Upon 
Marian's  left,  again,  were  Robert  and  Nigel,  the  latter 
nearest,  and  Robert  demurely  lost  between  Nigel  and 
Mrs.  Sinclair.  Marian,  from  her  position,  could  see  all 
the  faces.  Each  in  turn  gave  her  some  pleasure,  except 
Howard's;  for  Howard  was  preoccupied,  and  perfunc- 
tory in  his  attentiveness  to  Mrs.  Sinclair's  pertinacious 
volubility.  She  had  never  seen  him  quite  like  this,  for 
his  mouth  was  drawn  into  a  sternness  almost  vicious.  She 
had  seen  him  petulant,  angry;  determined;  he  had  shown 
himself  both  weak  and  obstinate;  but  this  new  expression 
of  vengeful  pain  was  until  now  unknown.  It  hurt  her. 
Unconsciously,  she  almost  murmured  aloud. 

"  Grotesque  .  .  .  it's  impossible.  Why  can't  he  see 
that?  He's  taking  it  hard,  and  it's  too  late  for  him  to 
take  love  hard.  It's  indecent  ..."  A  later  thought, 
that  came  as  a  flash,  said  "  I  wonder  if  I  should  take  it 
hard  at  his  age !  How  impossible !  "  She  thought  so 
little  of  this  that  she  never  after  remembered  it;  but 
she  continued  to  feel  that  indifferent  pity  for  Howard 
which  had  earlier  distressed  her.  She  too  became  per- 
functory in  attentiveness  to  her  guests. 

vii 

Howard  became  at  length  entirely  silent,  as  if  choked 
by  a  sense  of  most  intolerable  wrongs.  Once  he  met  her 
eyes,  and  she  faintly  shook  her  head,  to  warn  him  against 
obvious  moroseness.  But  Howard  was  too  far  gone : 
his  expression  blackened,  and  ugly  cruelty  showed.  His 
wife,  it  was  clear,  was  one  who  must  endure  his  moods. 


100  SEPTEMBER 

She  must  even  suffer  for  the  coldness  of  others.  In 
that  moment  he  looked  like  a  bully,  and  Marian  felt 
Nigel  turn  sharply  to  her  as  though  he  had  caught  the 
exchange  and  had  resented  Howard's  response  to  her 
pacific  entreaty.    He  was  alert  and  engaging. 

"  Mrs.  Forster,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  Shall  we 
challenge  Miss  Mant  and  your  husband  to  a  return 
match?" 

"  It  would  be  rather  jolly,"  ventured  Marian,  knowing 
well  that  there  would  be  no  such  match. 

"  I'm  not  playing  to-day,"  Cherry  quickly  interposed. 
"  I'm  too  tired." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Nigel.     "I'll  never  believe  it!" 

"  I'll  play  you  a  single."    Cherry  was  defiant. 

Howard's  jaw  was  set.  He  was  ostentatiously  out-of- 
temper.     He  hit  roughly. 

"If  you  do,  you'll  get  rolled  up,"  he  said,  with  all 
the  grimness  left  intact  by  his  anger  and  chagrin.  It 
was  pitiable  to  see  him  so  little  controlled. 

Anger  surged  in  its  turn  to  Cherry's  face.  She  could 
not  brook  such  an  attack  upon  her  vanity.  All  the  ugli- 
ness of  her  obstinate  nature  showed  at  once.  She  was 
in  an  instant  as  savage  as  he.  But  she  kept  her  tongue 
silent,  and  in  a  moment  smiled  cruelly  at  Howard.  The 
smile,  in  its  deliberate  indifference,  was  like  the  turn  of 
a  dagger. 

"  After  lunch  ?  "  she  asked  of  Nigel,  coolly  impudent 
and  defiant. 

There  was  everywhere  an  understanding  that  the  posi- 
tion was  strained.  Nigel  did  not  mend  matters.  He  too 
was  obstinate,  it  appeared.  He  looked  no  higher  than 
Cherry's  shoulders. 

"  I'm  playing  first  with  Mrs.  Forster,"  he  said.  "  If 
she'll  let  me." 

The  blood  ebbed   from  Cherry's  cheeks.     The  look 


SATURDAY  101 

in  her  eyes  was  that  of  insensate  anger.  It  was  un- 
mistakable. She  had  ceased  to  be  a  child  and  had  become 
a  wanton  who  would  disregard  all  who  stood  in  her  way. 
The  whole  of  the  episode  had  been  distressing  as  an  ex- 
hibition of  character.  It  was  so  bad  that  the  elder  Sin- 
clairs  were  silenced.  Their  usual  volubility  was  checked. 
They  could  only  look  uncomfortably  at  each  other,  and 
away  again.    Robert  was  the  one  who  pointed  the  moral. 

"Jolly  good!"  he  cried,  approvingly.  "Auntie,  I'll 
come  and  watch." 

"  You  shall  do  more,"  laughed  Marian,  trembling. 
"  You  shall  look  for  the  balls  when  they  go  into  the 
bushes,  Robert.     But  of  course  we're  all  going  to  play." 

The  quick  flash  of  grateful  response  from  Cherry  was 
her  reward.  Only  Marian  had  seen  the  girl's  lip  quiver. 
That  this  was  so  was  evidenced  afterwards,  when,  at 
the  end  of  the  meal,  Mrs.  Sinclair  stopped  for  a  moment 
beside  Marian  as  they  all  moved  towards  the  garden. 
Cherry  was  in  advance.  Howard  had  disappeared.  Tom 
and  Nigel  were  smoking  together.  Marian  was  trying 
to  reach  Cherry,  and  might  have  done  so  had  she  not  been 
detained  by  her  old  friend. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair.  '  Did  you  see 
that   girl's   expression?" 

"  She's  very  young,"  pleaded  Marian.  "  Young  and 
self-willed.  Besides,  the  fault  wasn't  hers.  She's  very 
impetuous." 

"  She's  more  than  that,  my  dear,"  persisted  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair.   "  She's  worse." 

"Yes.  A  great  deal  more  than  that  ..."  Marian 
ignored  the  supplement,  and  tried  by  dryness  to  turn  the 
point  of  the  principal  warning. 

"  I  advise  you  to  be  careful  of  her,"  urged  her  friend. 

Marian  turned,  smiling.  Her  face  was  unreadable.  In 
itself  that  was  a  rebuke. 


102  SEPTEMBER 

'  I  think  I  understand  her,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  I  wonder.  I  don't  think  you  do.  With  your  gentle 
nature  I  don't  think  you  could." 

"  You're  very  uncharitable  to  Cherry.  Over-generous 
to  me." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  You  may  think  you're  going  to  in- 
fluence her  -  .  ."  It  was  a  shrewd  thrust,  as  Marian 
would  have  expected.  "  Only  a  man  could  do  that. 
Mark  my  words.  You  can't.  A  man  who'd  thrash  her. 
Why,  can't  you  see?    She's  a  minx." 

Marian  breathed  quickly.  She  was  far  too  proud  to 
show  her  heart. 

"  I  know  you're  quite  wrong,"  she  said  soberly.  "  She's 
not  easy  to  read.  She's  easy  to  misunderstand.  She's 
full  of  good  and  evil, — as  we  all  are." 

"  We're  not  all  minxes,  thank  goodness,"  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair.  She  gave  a  sharp  side-glance,  almost  suspici- 
ous. "  At  least,  I'm  not  one.  I'm  not  so  absolutely  sure 
about  you  now  as  I  was  ten  minutes  ago." 

With  a  grunt  she  turned  away,  ignoring  the  effect  of 
her  own  affectionate  note  on  Marian's  character.  The 
last  sound  Marian  heard  upon  that  occasion  was  a  brief 
re-statement  of  Mrs.  Sinclair's  position. 

"  Minx,"  muttered  the  aunt  of  Nigel.  "  And  perhaps 
something  more." 

Marian  shivered.  If  Cherry  were  again  off  her  guard 
she  might  break  a  friendship.  Strange  that  this  defensive 
situation  should  have  arisen,  when  Marian's  own  feel- 
ings were  so  little  based  upon  confidence,  but  only  upon 
some  instinctive  hope.  She  was  believing  loyally  in 
Cherry  against  all  the  evidence  of  Cherry's  nature  as  it 
had  been  revealed  in  action. 

"  Supposing  she  if?  "  Marian  asked  herself.  "  What 
am  I  to  do?" 


CHAPTER  XI:  THE  FLIGHT 


THE  difficult  afternoon  went.  A  Sunday,  almost 
equally  difficult  through  the  prolonged  constraint 
of  Howard,  followed  it.  Howard  was  markedly  reckless. 
He  gave  no  explanation  of  his  towering  silence,  leaving 
Marian  to  construe  as  she  might.  His  speeches  were  few 
and  gruff ;  his  exchanges  with  the  two  women  were  brus- 
que to  roughness.  No  longer  did  he  beseech  Cherry. 
And  yet,  as  Marian  saw,  he  was  very  alert  for  some  soft- 
ening on  her  part.  He  listened  with  unwilling  intentness 
to  everything  she  said,  ignoring  it  with  a  determination 
that  made  him  like  a  stupid  hobbledehoy. 

Cherry  was  mischievously  demure,  frightened,  cold  to 
perfection;  and  only  by  her  unobtrusive  shadowing  of 
Marian  did  she  show  that  she  was  in  desperate  need  of 
help.  She  was  frightened,  but  unrepentant  and  ruthless. 
Was  that  to  last?  Marian  puzzled  over  the  problem  at 
intervals.  If  she  had  believed  wholly  in  Cherry  she  would 
have  thought  a  break  deliberately  resolved  upon ;  but  with 
the  new  doubt  suggested  by  Mrs.  Sinclair  she  was  half- 
ready  to  believe  all  this  coldness  but  a  new  move  in  the 
game  of  dominating  Howard's  nature.  Did  Cherry  want 
power?  Was  she  going  straight?  All  Marian's  clever- 
ness could  not  solve  the  riddle. 

For  herself,  Marian  was  only  watchful  and  super- 
ficially calm.  Her  brain  ached,  so  tried  was  it  in  the 
rapidity  of  all  her  intuitions  and  guesses.  A  sense  of  the 
complexity  of  a  girl's  mind — not  yet  arrived  at  the 
simplification   of   maturer   years — oppressed   her.      The 

103 


104  SEPTEMBER 

truth,  she  thought,  might  lie  in  the  immeasurable  variety 
of  Cherry's  inclinations.  Very  likely  the  girl  herself  did 
not  understand  her  own  actions  and  impulses.  She  was 
probably  following  them  with  blind  recklessness,  so  self- 
absorbed  as  to  ignore  every  consequence,  every  possibility 
of  misconstruction.  It  is  the  cruellest  thing  in  all  the 
all  cruelty  of  the  young  that  it  is  all  so  unconsidered. 


11 


There  was  no  attempt,  all  that  day,  at  any  intimate 
talk.  When  they  were  together,  Marian  and  Cherry 
kept  as  far  as  they  could  from  any  personal  topic;  and 
often  they  were  entirely  silent.  In  both  speculation  was 
so  busy  that  they  had  no  power  to  communicate.  The 
day  passed,  uncomfortable  and  cheerless.  Only  the  outer 
world  abated  none  of  its  energetic  exercise.  There  all 
was  at  full  pressure,  an  ironic  contrast  to  the  discord  of 
those  within,  and  a  comment  upon  the  secrecy  of  human 

sorrow. 

In  the  morning  Blanche,  in  bringing  Marian's  tray, 
announced  that  Howard  had  left  for  London  by  the  early 
morning  train.  Blanche  added  that  he  had  gone  be- 
cause of  "  important  business." 

iii 

Marian's  first  thought  was,  "  What  a  coward ! '  Then 
immediately,  "Or  what  a  tactician?"  She  lay  quite 
still  when  Blanche  had  gone,  and  laughed  softly.  There 
was  bound  to  be  a  comic  element  in  the  breakfast  scene 
which  was  to  follow.  She  imagined  it  as  she  sipped  her 
tea.     Then  her  heart  chilled. 

"  It's  horrible !  "  she  cried,  passionately.  "  Horrible ! 
And  I'm  as  much  ashamed  of  myself  as  I  am  of  them. 
They're  foolish  .  .  .  stupid  and  ugly  .  .  .  But  I'm 
worse,  because  I'm  cold.  Yes,  I'm  hard  and  cold  and 
vindictive." 


THE  FLIGHT  105 

But  she  was  not  cold. 

Later  still,  trying  to  solve  her  sense  of  being  a  specta- 
tor, and  of  failing  to  hate  Cherry,  Marian  fell  into  a 
curious  notion.  She  realised  quite  suddenly  that  the  rea- 
son she  did  not  hate  Cherry  and  condemn  her  and  send 
her  away  was  that  in  some  way  she  felt  responsible  for 
Cherry.  It  was  as  though  Cherry  had  been  her  daugh- 
ter. Still,  after  thirty-eight  years  of  life,  Marian  be- 
lieved in  the  power  of  love,  the  protective  and  pervasive 
power  of  love.  She  had  not  yet  tired  of  giving.  She 
did  not  hold  level  the  scales  of  gifts  and  returns.  She 
was  that  rarest  and  most  tragic  of  human  creatures,  the 
almost  disinterested  giver.  Without  plan  of  any  kind, 
she  had  an  instinct  that  forbade  her  to  abandon  Cherry 
at  this  crucial  moment.  She  was  not  moved  or  senti- 
mental :  she  had  a  sense  of  consequences.  And  she  had  a 
belief  in  human  nature — even  in  the  nature  of  a  young 
girl  playing  so  perilously  with  passion  and  the  inclina- 
tion to  take  risks  with  life.  That  alone  was  the  ex- 
planation of  her  coolness  in  handling  the  situation. 

iv 

When  they  were  seated  it  became  clear  that  the  break- 
fast-table was  laid  for  three  only.  Marian  was  beginning 
her  explanation  just  as  Cherry  noticed  the  significant 
fact. 

"  Why,  there's  no  place   ..." 

"  Like  home !  "  interposed  Robert,  electrically. 

"  Howard  went  to  London  by  the  early  train." 

Cherry  started.  Her  head  was  lowered.  Marian  im- 
agined that  her  heart  was  beating  fast.  When  she  spoke, 
her  artificially  natural  voice  trembled. 

"  Rather  unexpected,  isn't  it?  "  she  asked.  "  Did  you 
know?" 

"  Not  until  this  morning.     Some  urgent  business." 


106  SEPTEMBER 

Cherry's  shrewd  knowledge  of  the  postal  delivery — 
the  Monday  morning  blank — was  indicated.     She  knew 
that  Howard   could  not  have  been  unexpectedly   sum- 
moned to  town.     Marian  could  almost  see  the  thought 
fly  through  her  brain,  for  a  shadow  fell  across  her  face, 
so  quick  that  it  was  barely  perceptible.     Marian  would 
have  missed  it  had  she  been  unprepared.     She  wondered 
how  much  Cherry  thought  she  might  know  of  the  affair 
and  its  progress.     The  girl  was  behaving — or  trying  to 
behave — as  though  this  was  a  matter  unconnected  with 
herself.     That  was  absurd.     Those  were  absurd  tactics. 
Did  she  think  Marian  knew  nothing,  or  everything  by 
instinct,  or  did  she  suppose  Marian  to  be  groping  among 
mere  nervous  apprehensions  for  the  cause  of  Howard's 
gloom  and  his  sudden  departure?    If  so,  she  was  falling 
into  her  old  trick  of  under-rating  the  intelligence  of  her 
associates.      If   one   didn't   know  the   facts,   there   was 
bound  to  be  a  fine  web  of  supposition  in  the  feminine 
mind.     And  Cherry  could  only  guess  blindly  after  Mar- 
ian's knowledge.    How  much,  unaided,  could  Cherry  per- 
ceive?    That  was  a  puzzle.     All  the  same,  Marian  felt 
pleasantly  mistress  of  the  situation.     After  all,  she  did 
know  much  more  of  what  had  happened  than  Cherry 
could  quite  follow.     The  scene  in  the  wood  had  been  an 
essential  fact.     Cherry  did  not  know  that  Marian  knew 
of  that  scene.     She  did  not  know  how  much  she  might 
have   inferred    from    Howard's    blunderingly    wounded 
manner.     How  troublesome  Cherry's  doubts  must  be  to 
her!     She  must  be  perfectly  at  a  loss;  but  she  was  as 
swift  and  probing  as  a  child,  and  as  adept  at  concealing 
her  penetrations.     It  was  exciting! 

With  a  small  laugh,  intended  perhaps  to  establish  in- 
credible ignorance,  Cherry  added : 

"  Aren't  men  funny !     I  wonder  why  he  didn't  tell  us 
he  was  going." 


THE  FLIGHT  10T 

"  I  expect  he'll  be  back  to-night,"  suggested  Marian, 
suavely. 

A  roguish  smile  of  greater  sagacity  appeared  upon 
Cherry's  face. 


For  the  rest  of  the  day  she  was  charming.  Without 
the  least  air  of  scheme,  she  was  like  a  delightful  baby, 
caressing  and  tender.  She  talked  with  animation,  sang 
a  little — songs  Marian  did  not  know,  which  required 
a  slightly  American  accent  and  a  singular  variability  of 
time  until  then  unfamiliar  to  Marian's  ears; — and  showed 
great  vitality  in  small  helpful  tasks.  In  the  afternoon 
they  played  tennis  together,  and  Marian,  bereft  of  Nigel's 
inspiration,  lost  the  sett  after  a  good  fight.  Cherry  was 
delighted.  She  laughed  exultantly,  flushed  and  happy. 
In  all  this  there  was  no  sign  of  the  least  vicious  desire  for 
triumph,  but  only  the  exhilaration  of  the  victor.  She 
was  captivating. 

In  the  evening  they  strolled  together  in  the  garden,  and 
it  was  Marian's  turn  to  talk.  She  spoke  of  her  young 
days,  and  Cherry  listened  eagerly.  No  mention  other 
than  casual  was  made  of  Howard  by  either  of  them.  He 
had  disappeared  from  the  scene ;  and  it  was  filled  only  by 
a  sense  of  mutual  confidence.  Both  were  playing  parts, 
concealing  all  their  intuitions  regarding  each  other;  but 
neither  was  doing  it  with  effort  or  hostility,  for  it  was 
as  though  both  recognised  the  same  convention. 

Marian  went  to  bed  happy.  She  knew  that  Cherry's 
day  had  been  blithe  and  untroubled;  and  for  herself  the 
same  could  be  said,  because  the  cause  of  their  constraint 
was  absent.  With  Howard  away  Cherry  talked  well 
and  intelligently.  She  was  clearly  a  girl  with  thoughts 
of  her  own  and  a  power  to  express  them.  She  was  for 
the  whole  day  all  that  Marian  could  have  wished — eager 


108  SEPTEMBER 

and  fresh  and  apparently  candid.  Wholly  candid,  it 
might  have  appeared,  except  upon  one  subject.  It  did  not 
arise.  They  were  content  that  Howard  should  not  be 
mentioned. 

When,  once,  Marian  referred  to  Nigel,  Cherry  said: 

"  Yes,    He's  a  nice  man.     I  think  he's  nice." 

"  He  plays  very  well — I  mean,  he's  a  musician." 

There  was  nothing  in  return  but  a  polite  expression  of 
interest.  No  surprise,  no  pleasure.  Cherry,  then,  was 
not  musical.  That  was  a  power  that  did  not  appeal  to 
her.  If  she  had  not  had  proof  to  the  contrary,  Marian 
would  have  supposed  her  merely  a  frank,  athletic  girl. 
She  went  on : 

"  He's  also  an  idealist,  which  is  rather  a  notable  thing 
in  a  young  man." 

"  It  is"  agreed  Cherry,  with  emphasis.  She  spoke  as 
a  specialist,  as  Marian  could  not  fail  to  observe.  "  What 
d'you  mean  ?  " 

Marian  sketched  some  of  Nigel's  interests  as  they  had 
been  revealed  in  the  two  conversations.  She  enlarged 
upon  his  naivete. 

"  His  age  varies  every  minute,"  she  explained,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Like  mine  .  .  .  You  know  him  pretty  well,  don't 
you  ?  "  Cherry  asked,  shrewdly. 

"No,  no   .    .    ." 

"  Well,  you  understand  him." 

"  I  certainly  like  him." 

They  talked  no  more  of  Nigel. 

At  ten  o'clock  they  went  to  bed,  happily  tired.  As 
they  lighted  their  candles  in  the  hall  Cherry  looked  at 
Marian  with  her  frank  expression  of  liking.  She  smiled 
a  little.  They  seemed  beautifully  intimate.  It  appeared 
as  though  she  could  not  resist  the  slight  impulse  to 
egotism  that  was  recurrent  in  her  talk. 


THE  FLIGHT  109 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  in  a  moved  voice.  "  You're 
most  awfully  good  to  me.  I'm  such  a  .  .  .  such  an 
ungrateful  pig  ..."  When  she  saw  there  was  noth- 
ing but  kindness  in  Marian's  speechlessness,  her  eyes 
suddenly  glowed.  "  You're  a  brick,"  she  murmured. 
Then,  sober  and  abrupt :  "  Good  night." 

In  the  staring  light  of  the  candle  she  went  up  the  stairs 
as  if  she  were  dreaming,  a  slender  child  without  any 
impulse  that  was  not  wholly  innocent. 

Marian  followed  slowly,  deep  in  reverie  that  was  un- 
conscious of  its  own  implications.  When  she  was  in 
her  own  room  she  stood  for  a  moment,  still  unthinking. 
But  as  she  put  her  candle  down  the  reverie  produced  a 
startling  conclusion. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.    "  I  just  wonder." 


BOOK  TWO:   NIGEL 


CHAPTER  I:  HOWARD'S  RETURN 


HOWARD  did  not  write  to  Marian  to  explain  his 
departure  or  to  announce  his  return.  He  was  away 
all  the  week.  The  inexplicable  silence  provoked  a  slight 
constraint  between  Marian  and  Cherry ;  but  for  the  most 
part  their  friendship  improved  during  the  week.  They 
several  times  played  tennis;  they  walked  together;  they 
sat  and  talked.  For  Marian,  apart  from  the  one  for- 
bidden topic,  it  was  a  week  of  genuine  relaxation.  Cherry 
was  a  charming  companion.  She  talked  well  when  alone, 
and  she  had  a  number  of  opinions  upon  matters  of  social 
and  human  interest  which  showed  her  to  be  both  shrewd 
and  observant.  Occasionally  it  seemed  to  Marian  that 
these  opinions  might  have  been  derived  from  older  per- 
sons— it  became  clear  that  she  had  no  girl-friends  of  her 
own  age,  but  only  a  few  acquaintances  among  older  peo- 
ple;— but  they  were  often  both  consistent  and  character- 
istic. She  was  old  for  her  years,  but  unequal  in  her 
knowledges.  She  referred  familiarly  to  people  well 
known  in  the  arts,  and  her  views  upon  them  were  vigor- 
ous, if  not  always  well  founded.  Her  ambitions  were 
boundless.  They  ranged  from  political  eminence  to  a 
countrified  retirement  which  it  was  clear  she  would  in 
reality  find  insupportable.  Marian  took  delight  in  such 
peeps  into  an  alert  mind.  At  times  she  thought  Cherry's 
ambitions  not  outside  the  range  of  her  abilities.  She 
was  confirmed  in  her  admiration  for  the  girl. 

There  was,  however,  a  reverse  side  to  Cherry's  revela- 
tions which  gave  her  less  pleasure.     Unconsciously  she 

113 


114  SEPTEMBER 

gave  indications  of  hardness.  There  was  in  some  of  her 
attitudes  a  quite  definite  sophistication.  She  was  still 
touched  by  that  modern  brand  of  sophistication  which 
lies  in  the  adoration  of  pleasure.  Her  notions  of  life 
were  still  those  which  an  ardent  nature  might  derive 
from  the  amenities  of  musical  comedy  and  riverside  flirta- 
tion. She  still  saw  herself  as  the  heroic  mistress  of  a 
distinguished  man  rather  than  as  the  affectionate  wife 
and  companion  of  a  good  man.  To  Marian  this  was  a 
perverse  and  unenjoyable  attitude  because  it  took  little 
account  of  any  permanent  relation  or  sense  of  responsi- 
bility or  permanent  happiness.  Marian  every  now  and 
then  received  little  shocks  of  distaste — not  moral  shocks, 
but  slight  feelings  of  irritation  at  ambitions  metallic  in 
their  shallow  ignorance  of  the  rewards  of  virtue.  The 
faintest  protest  at  once  caused  a  leap  of  rebellious  anger 
in  Cherry's  eyes,  a  harshness  and  defiance  in  her  voice. 
She  was  intolerant  of  continence  as  a  rule  of  life.  She 
still  saw  existence  too  much  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  self-indulgent  child;  and  this,  while  it  made  Mar- 
ian tenfold  more  anxious  that  Cherry  should  benefit  from 
wise  counsel,  at  times  alienated  her  sympathy.  It  pro- 
vided her  with  many  absorbing  problems,  which  she  re- 
volved at  length  in  her  cool  judgment.  More  and  more 
she  realised  that  to  control  Cherry  would  be  a  strong 
man's  lifelong  task.  The  knowledge  saddened  her. 
With  such  loveliness,  and  with  so  much  true  innocence, 
Cherry  might  yet  from  sheer  self-love  and  self-will,  from 
a  kind  of  base  conceitedness,  wreck  her  own  happiness 
and  the  happiness  of  others.  It  was  clear  that  a  dis- 
covered weakness  in  another  person  would  always  leave 
her  childishly  and  cruelly  triumphant.  Marian  often 
shook  her  head  at  that  perception.  Would  Cherry  ever 
find  a  partner  so  understanding  as  to  appreciate  her,  and 
so  virile  as  to  dominate  her  imperfect  moral  sense?  Were 


HOWARD'S  RETURN  115 

there  people  in  the  world  who  combined  unselfishness 
with  strong  will?  That,  it  seemed  to  Marian,  was  the 
simplification  of  the  whole  affair;  and  at  present  Cherry 
was  too  much  at  the  mercy  of  her  impulses  and  too  much 
disposed  to  regard  these  as  the  sufficient  warrant  for 
her  conduct. 

Of  her  own  power  for  good  she  occasionally  felt 
doubtful.  For  one  thing  she  had  neither  the  time  nor 
the  opportunity  for  controlling  Cherry.  Marian  was 
extremely  human  in  many  ways;  but  she  suffered  from 
that  power  of  cold  cruelty  which  persons  of  self-control 
at  times  exhibit.  She  knew  that  if  Cherry  failed  her 
she  herself  would  find  it  hard  to  resist  the  impulse  to 
punish  inexorably.  More  than  once,  turning  the  matter 
over  in  her  mind,  she  washed  her  hands  of  the  girl. 
"  No,  no.  It's  not  worth  it.  It's  not  in  the  least  worth 
it.  One  might  go  on  endlessly  and  at  the  last  be  dis- 
appointed by  some  stupidity"  she  said.  "  Not  the  stupid- 
ity of  the  dull  but  the  horrible  obtuseness  of  a  selfish 
girl  sworn  to  the  pursuit  of  her  own  objects."  And  im- 
mediately afterwards,  like  a  true  woman,  Marian  would 
see  her  duty  plain,  and  return  to  her  essential  philosophy, 
that  love  was  never  lost,  but  always  produced  at  least  a 
semblance  of  return  for  its  bestowal.  How  strange  that 
she  would  be  full  of  Cherry,  and  absorbed  in  the  desire 
for  a  wise  development  of  the  girl's  character!  When 
she  was  aware  of  this  she  felt  very  old  and  mature;  but 
perhaps  not  very  confident  of  the  potence  of  her  dis- 
interested wish  for  Cherry's  happiness.  She  found  her- 
self repeating  a  long-remembered  phrase :  "  We  are  be- 
trayed by  what  is  false  within."  Was  the  base  element 
in  Cherry's  nature  even  susceptible  to  outside  influence? 
Or  would  it  at  last  dominate  her  whole  character  ?  Who 
could  tell  ? 


116  SEPTEMBER 

ii 

The  week  passed.  Few  letters  came  to  the  house ;  and 
as  far  as  Marian  knew  there  never  came  a  letter  for 
Cherry.  Until  Thursday,  when  a  note  from  Alice  Mant 
to  herself  announced  that  she  wanted  her  children  back, 
as  they  were  all  going  early  in  the  following  week  to 
Somerset,  for  three  weeks'  bathing  and  holiday-making. 
Tom,  she  said,  had  found  suddenly  that  he  must  have  a 
change,  and  could  spare  the  time  for  it.  Accordingly, 
would  Marian  please  forgive  such  short  notice  and  send 
the  children  home  on  Friday? 

At  once  Marian  flew  into  a  suspicion.  Had  Cherry 
written  to  her  mother  demanding  to  be  recalled?  Alice's 
letter  seemed  to  dispose  of  that  notion.  And  yet?  It 
was  strange.  What  was  in  the  child's  mind?  Was  this 
a  further  manoeuvre  for  Howard's  discomfiture?  Or  was 
it  all  genuine,  and  was  Marian  herself  a  beast  for  her 
suspicion?  The  doubt  was  too  hard  to  solve.  How 
much  of  an  actress  was  Cherry? 

What,  too,  would  Howard  do  and  say  upon  his  return  ? 

iii 

On  Friday  she  was  alone.  The  two  Mants  had  caught 
the  late  morning  train,  and  were  on  their  way,  after  a 
parting  of  great  warmth.  They  had  both  seemed  sorry 
to  go,  and  yet  both  had  looked  forward  rather  exultingly 
to  the  holiday  in  store.  Of  course,  as  Robert  pointed 
out,  it  "  stashed  up  "  his  plan  for  going  to  his  school- 
fellow's; but  the  prospect  of  bathing  and  picnicking  with 
his  father,  whom  he  loved  and  revered,  was  a  very  joy- 
ous one.  Cherry  remained  inscrutable.  She  had  become 
silent  and  thoughtful.  Marian  would  have  supposed  her 
unmoved  if  it  had  not  been  that  she  behaved  so  affection- 
ately at  the  last,  with  a  sort  of  caressing  grace  that  could 


HOWARD'S  RETURN  117 

not  have  been  assumed.  Marian  could  not  fail  to  be- 
lieve that  love  had  been  given  to  herself.  When  the  train 
started  the  girl,  still  not  speaking,  had  directed  a  long, 
candid,  and  reassuring  glance  at  Marian.  Then  she  had 
been  lost  to  sight.  Two  arms — one  of  them  Robert's — 
alone  projected  from  the  carriage  window,  waving  fare- 
well, until  the  train  was  like  a  caterpillar  far  down  the 
glittering  line. 

And  then  Marian,  returning  home,  had  found  the 
house  lonely.  She  had  walked  from  room  to  room,  feel- 
ing deserted  and  a  little  heartsick.  She  had  smiled  at  a 
thousand  recollections,  and  frowned  at  a  thousand  more. 
And  she  was  still  uncertain  about  Cherry.  The  week 
had  been  too  short.  It  was  too  short  for  the  discovery 
of  any  genuine  truth  about  a  young  girl's  nature,  unless 
that  girl  were  the  simplest  of  creatures. 

"  Of  course,"  Marian  said  to  herself.  "  I  don't  like 
simple  creatures.  I  don't  like  '  nice  '  girls,  because  there's 
nothing  on  earth  nastier  than  the  really  '  nice  '  girl.  All 
the  same,  I  wish  Cherry  were  a  bit  .  .  .  What  is  it  I 
want  her  to  be  ?  "  She  was  for  that  moment  filled  with 
a  subtle  suspicion  of  the  hitherto-unquestioned  disinter- 
estedness of  her  own  wishes.  "  Do  I  really  want  her  to 
be  more  .  .  .  stable;  or  just  .  .  .  more  tractable? 
I  don't  know.  How  detached  am  I?  Is  any  woman — 
any  person — really  capable  of  seeing  another  with  detach- 
ment? I  should  have  thought,  only  I!  I  don't  believe 
anybody  could  know."  The  horrible  indifference  which 
she  dreaded  paid  her  a  passing  visit.     She  added : 

"  And  after  all,  why  should  I  bother?  " 

A  telegram  from  Howard  reached  her  an  hour  later, 
asking  that  the  car  should  be  sent  to  meet  the  evening 
train.  Marian  laughed  faintly  as  she  read  it,  and  was 
then  again  grave. 


118  SEPTEMBER 

iv 

Pity  made  her  withdraw  as  the  sound  of  the  car  an- 
nounced its  return;  but  she  came  down  a  few  moments 
afterwards,  and  waited  for  Howard  in  the  drawing-room. 
She  was  not  unmoved.  Far  from  unmoved.  Her  heart 
was  soft  with  pity  for  poor  human  creatures,  living  in 
such  futile  agonies.  It  appeared  to  her  that  she  was 
feeling  the  whole  situation  with  new  intensity,  and  her 
part  was  difficult  to  play.  The  turn  of  events  and  of 
Howard's  bearing  must  determine  her  own  conduct  to- 
wards him. 

Soon  he  too  came  into  the  silent  room,  and  stood  by 
the  door.  Apparently  he  expected  the  others  to  be  there, 
for  he  looked  quickly  round.  To  Marian  it  seemed  that 
he  must,  as  she  was  doing,  feel  the  emptiness  of  the 
house;  but  his  sensitiveness  was  less  than  hers.  With 
an  impulsive  wish  to  end  his  uncertainty,  she  greeted 
him. 

"  Hullo,  Howard,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I'm  all  alone. 
Alice  demanded  the  children  back.  They  went  this 
morning." 

He  paled.  A  great  frown,  accusing  in  its  direction 
towards  herself,  showed  upon  his  brow. 

"  Went !  "  he  cried.  Then,  harshly,  as  though  he  com- 
prehended the  part  she  had  played  in  this  blow :  "  Oh,  I 
see." 

"  I  was  sorry.  Alice  and  Tom  ..."  The  gong 
sounded.  "  I'll  explain  in  the  other  room."  She  moved 
towards  the  door;  and  as  they  entered  the  dining-room 
began  again.  "  It  seems  Tom  is  run  down,  so  they  are 
all  to  go  to  Somersetshire  for  a  holiday.  We  only  had  a 
day's  notice.     It  was  sudden." 

Still  he  was  firmly  believing  that  Cherry  had  been 
sent  away. 


HOWARD'S  RETURN  119 

"  I  see,"  he  morosely  said. 

Marian  could  see  nothing  but  his  tired  face,  the  baggy 
puffs  below  his  eyes.  He  looked  haggard,  weary  and 
melancholy.  And  he  disliked  her.  She  had  no  triumph, 
but  only  a  feeling  of  sadness  that  she  did  not  love  him 
more. 

"  I've  felt  very  lonely  all  day  since  they  went,"  she 
went  on,  forcing  herself  to  speak  in  a  tone  of  lightness. 
"  They're  such  nice  children.  Both  quite  childish,  of 
course — even  Cherry  ...  I  suppose  you  couldn't  get 
back  before.  We've  had  a  very  quiet  week.  I've  seen 
nothing  at  all  of  the  Sinclairs — not  even  the  young  man 
has  been  over." 

"  Oh,  that  cub !  "  muttered  Howard,  half  to  him- 
self. 

Marian's  brows  arched  themselves.  Why  should  he 
feel  hostility?  Instantly  her  memory  responded.  Nigel 
had  been  the  instrument  of  the  tennis  failure.  Of  course, 
he  was  hateful  to  Howard.  She  had  been  tactless.  She 
shook  her  head  in  self-rebuke.     It  had  been  a  mistake. 

"  You've  been  busy?  "  she  ventured. 

"Yes,  yes  ..."  He  was  lost  in  thought.  Marian 
felt  Blanche's  observation  of  the  scene,  and  was  glad 
when  they  were  once  more  alone.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  have  a  difficult  situation  to  deal  with;  it  became  much 
worse  when  one  was  under  the  scrutiny  of  a  third  person 
who  would  guess  hard  and  report  details  of  Howard's 
surliness.  She  crumbled  her  bread,  seeking  inspiration. 
It  did  not  come.  She  was  tongue-tied,  as  he  was.  It 
was  not  enough  to  be  appreciative  of  his  feelings;  to 
carry  the  evening  successfully  through  she  would  need 
some  inventive  power  not  yet  vouchsafed.  Stealthily 
Marian  looked  at  him  through  the  flowers.  For  a  mo- 
ment his  lids  were  lowered;  but  she  had  just  time  to  avert 
her  glance  as  he  sent  a  look  of  almost  malignant  hatred 


120  SEPTEMBER 

in  her  direction.  Had  she  not  been  steeled,  it  would  have 
hurt  her. 

"  I  see  they're  going  to  have  a  great  book  fair  at 
Leipzig.  At  least,  I  suppose  its  open  already.  I  should 
rather  like  to  go.  I  suppose  we  couldn't  run  across  to 
Germany  and  have  a  look  at  it  ?  "  She  tried  to  talk  of 
the  first  thing  that  she  could  form  phrases  upon. 

Howard  cleared  his  throat. 

"What  absurdity!"  he  cried,  with  vehemence.  "A 
ridiculous  book  exhibition !  " 

"  I  think  it's  not  only  books.  An  international  exhibi- 
tion of  fine  arts   ..." 

"  I  wouldn't  go  to  Germany  for  a  thousand  pounds," 
growled  Howard,  moving  his  hands  restlessly  upon  the 
table.    "  I  don't  want  to  go.    I  want  to  stay  here." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Howard."  It  was  a  reproach,  rather  than 
an  apology ;  as  they  both  knew.  "  I  suppose  I'm  getting 
restless.  It's  the  modern  disease,  you  know.  I've  got  a 
great  wish  to  travel.  You  see,  I've  been  here  for  a 
good  many  weeks.  It's  two  months  before  we  go  to 
London;  and  you  know  how   ..." 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake ! ':  Howard  almost  shouted. 
Marian  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  indignation.  Her  heart 
began  to  thump.  Her  face  became  cold,  and  her  eyes 
darkened.  She  said  nothing,  while  Howard,  ashamed 
of  himself,  ate  gloomily  and  without  appetite. 

v 

Immediately  after  dinner  Marian  found  Alice  Mant's 
letter  and  put  it  into  Howard's  hand  without  explaining 
what  it  was  or  why  she  had  given  it  to  him.  She  knew 
the  letter  was  too  crude  in  expression  to  do  anything 
but  clear  herself  and  explain  the  departure  of  Cherry. 
Their  evening  was  spent  apart.  Howard  disappeared, 
after  reading  the  letter  and  returning  it  to  her  in  silence, 
and  Marian  did  some  sewing.     She  was  wondering  at 


HOWARD'S  RETURN  121 

herself,  and  at  her  own  stupidity  at  dinner.  Rather 
warmly,  she  asked  herself — or  the  wise  world — a  pointed 
question.    She  ejaculated  impulsively : 

"  How  does  one  behave  at  table  when  one's  husband 
makes  a  fool  of  himself,  and  when  one  isn't  in  the  least 
jealous  or  anxious  about  it?" 

She  then  smiled  mischievously  at  the  trust  of  Cherry 
implied  in  this  speech.  How  funny !  She  did  trust 
Cherry.  And  she  at  the  same  time  didn't  trust  her  a  bit. 
What  an  anomaly!  The  human  heart  was  a  wonderful 
thing,  past  understanding. 

At  ten  o'clock  she  was  folding  her  needlework  when 
Howard  came  back  into  the  room.  She  looked  up  at  him 
as  he  entered,  and  was  rising  when  he  came  nearer  and 
put  his  arm  round  her. 

"  Sorry  I  was  snappy  at  dinner,"  he  said.  "  Didn't 
mean  it.    I'm  fagged  out.    I'll  go  to  bed." 

"  Poor  old  chap."    Marian  kissed  his  cheek. 

"  I'm  deadly  miserable,  oid  girl."  His  husky  voice  was 
part  of  the  warm  tobacco-scented  breath  upon  her  face. 
She  turned  to  him  again,  immediately  responsive. 

"  I  know."    It  was  murmured,  a  caress. 

They  said  no  more.  Marian  went  to  bed  without  any 
further  glance  or  interchange  of  feeling,  but  only  a  quiet 
good  night  that  for  a  time  re-established  some  degree  of 
intimacy  between  them. 


CHAPTER  II:  PRELUDE 


THEIR  life  during  the  next  day  was  in  a  studiously 
minor  key.  There  was  no  need  for  them  to  speak 
at  all.  Marian  knew  that  Howard  realised  her  sympathy 
with  his  pain ;  she  wished  nothing  more.  And  it  did  not 
require  verbal  expression.  They  met  to  separate  again. 
He  withdrew  to  his  room,  and  then  went  out-of-doors; 
while  she,  once  her  ordinary  work  was  finished,  became 
busy  in  the  garden,  picking  flowers  for  the  house  and 
cutting  away  the  withering  roses  of  yesterday.  Later,  she 
went  indoors  and  arranged  the  flowers,  changed  her  dress, 
and  was  downstairs  again  long  before  lunch  was  ready. 

"  What  a  useless  life  I  lead !  "  she  thought.  "  I  wish 
I  did  something.  I've  been  idle  for  so  many  years,  with- 
out noticing  how  idle  I  was.  I  suppose  Cherry's  energy 
has  made  me  envious   ..." 

She  was  thinking  that,  when  she  heard  the  sound  of 
Nigel's  car;  and  she  went  to  meet  him  as  he  arrived,  a 
delightful  gladness  pervading  her  at  the  prospect  of 
relief  from  thoughts  so  profitless.  Nigel  jumped  from 
his  place  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Forster,"  he  said,  "  I  ought  to  apologise  for 
coming  at  such  a  time." 

"  It's  perfectly  Spartan  of  you  to  come  at  all.  You'll 
stay  to  lunch?  " 

"  May  I  ?    I  hoped  you'd  ask  me." 

■'  It's  splendid.    And  I  hoped  you  would  come  to-day." 

"Did  you  really?"  His  expression  became  radiant. 
"  D'you  know  I've  got  hundreds  of  things  I  want  to  say 

to  you." 

122 


PRELUDE  123 

He  was  so  boyish  that  she  laughed  outright,  a  new 
thrill  in  her  voice  at  such  palpable  liking,  and  such  a 
frank  admission  of  it. 

"  But  there  won't  be  time  for  them  all ! "  she  cried. 
"  You  shouldn't  have  let  them  accumulate  so." 

"  I  haven't  dared  to  come  before.  We  were  here  a 
week  ago." 

"  Every  day's  a  week — in  the  country,  and  when  one's 

alone." 

"You're  alone?"  She  wondered  at  his  voice,  at  the 
pleasure  in  it. 

"  My  husband  only  came  back  yesterday.  And  my  visi- 
tors left  yesterday.     How  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sinclair?" 

"  They  never  change.  They're  fixed  in  good  spirits. 
It's  quite  monotonous.  But  I'd  really  have  come  be- 
fore .  .  .  only  .  .  .  Well,  I  thought  perhaps  you'd 
rather  I  didn't." 

"  How  silly ! '  Marian  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  arch  familiarity.  "  You  won't  ever  think  that  again 
will  you?  " 

She  turned  to  him,  laughing,  and  saw  his  bright  eyes 
and  his  eagerness,  and  was  filled  again  with  the  sense  of 
her  liking  for  him.  Of  his  liking  for  her,  also.  She  was 
so  grateful  for  that!    It  gave  her  a  new  interest. 

"  You're  not  saying  that    ..."  stammered  Nigel. 

"Why  should  I?':  Are  you  so  unwelcome  wherever 
you  go?  ':  There  was  the  smallest  pause.  "  I  don't  see 
very  many  people,  you  must  remember.  This  isn't 
London,  where  visiting  is  a  daily   .    .    .   task." 

"  Task?  "    He  caught  quickly  at  the  word. 

"  Where  the  receiving  of  visits  ..."  It  was 
Marian's  turn  to  hesitate,  so  happy  she  was  in  his  wish 
to  please  her.  "  Where  it's  .  .  .  well,  less  of  an  event, 
at  any  rate." 

"  You're  so  good,"  said  Nigel,  slightly  flushing. 

Marian  became  graver.     She  thought :  "  He's  such  a 


124  SEPTEMBER 

boy!'  But  she  was  a  little  moved;  and  very  glad  to 
see  him;  and  relieved  to  know  somebody  who  seemed 
candid  and  ingenuous.  She  did  not  realise  at  all  how 
much,  or  how  little,  warmth  may  mean  at  early  meetings. 
She  was  only  conscious  of  a  new  sense  in  herself  of  alert 
vitality. 

11 

They  were  still  talking  when  the  luncheon  bell  rang. 
Howard  had  not  returned  from  his  walk,  and  she  knew 
that  he  might  either  come  in  late  or  stay  away  altogether, 
having  his  lunch  at  a  wayside  inn.  They  went,  there- 
fore, to  lunch  alone,  Nigel  sitting  upon  her  right  hand, 
perfectly  at  ease,  and  full  of  energy.  She  had  a  thou- 
sand glimpses  of  his  dark  face  and  his  expressive  smile 
and  glance.  She  had  never  seen  anybody  quicker  than  he 
in  response  to  the  smallest  change  of  mood.  Again 
Marian  was  struck  by  his  handsomeness  and  his  excellent 
carriage. 

"  We'd  better  begin  with  the  very  first  thing  you 
wanted  to  say,"  she  teased. 

"  Oh,  no !  The  first  twenty  things  must  go  by  the 
board.  They  were  provisional,"  he  answered,  with  equal 
raillery.  "  They  were  like  a  baby's  first  attempts  to 
walk — mere  totter ings.  Besides,  many  of  them  have 
answered  themselves.  I  know  a  man  who  says  that  any 
letter  left  unanswered  for  a  month  does  that   ..." 

"  Then  I  suppose  a  question  unanswered  for  a 
week   ..." 

"  Many  times  over." 

"  It  all  sounds  splendid  ...  to  me.  But  you  know 
that  I  can't  help  being  most  distressingly  curious." 

"  Haven't  you  wanted  to  ask  me  anything?  "  He  was 
encouraged  to  daring.  Demurely,  Marian  dashed  his 
courage  to  the  ground. 


PRELUDE  125 

"  I've  been  so  busy,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I  haven't  been  idle.  My  thoughts  have  kept 
me  busy." 

"  But  then  you're  younger  than  I  am,"  urged  Marian, 
stung  to  fresh  teasing.  "  You  haven't  as  much  to  occupy 
your  attention." 

A  gravity  came  into  Nigel's  face. 

"  I  wonder  exactly  what  age  is,"  he  said.  "  Does  any- 
body ever  know  ?  I  seem  to  vary  every  hour.  I  suppose 
you  mean  you  think  I'm  very  young?  Well,  I  am  young; 
but  not  quite  altogether  callow.     Did  you  think  that?" 

"  Never !  "  stoutly  declared  Marian.  "  How  could  I 
think  that  ?  "  They  both  laughed.  "  I  know  one  isn't 
mistress  of  one's  thoughts   ..."  she  continued. 

"  The  modern  psychologists  seem  to  say  it's  only  one's 
dreams  that  are  free,"  suggested  Nigel.  "  I  mean,  free 
from  inhibitions." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  bother  about  the 
modern  psychologists? ':  she  questioned,  very  quickly. 
'  They're  only  a  sign  of  modern  self-consciousness. 
And  a  cause  of  it,  too.  I'm  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  all  the  pseudo-science  our  young  people  are  getting 
hold  of  is  darkening  their  lives  and  making  them  distrust 
their  own  nature." 

Nigel  responded  immediately  to  that  suggestion.  He 
looked  at  her  with  interest. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  he  claimed.  "  I  think 
it's  true.  If  one  begins  to  believe  in  psycho-analysis,  and 
to  apply  it  to  one's  self,  it's  most  terribly  corrosive  and 
destructive.  One  thinks  of  one's  self  as  a  merely  preying 
monster.  It's  impossible  to  get  any  peace  of  mind  at 
all." 

They  nodded  in  pleasant  agreement. 

"  This  is  very  nice,"  said  Marian.  "  Psycho-analysis 
isn't  really  scientific,   I  think.     It  isn't  just  genuinely 


126  SEPTEMBER 

simple  analysis,  but  a  pretentious  hybrid.     It's  ridden  by 
a  great  fear  of  human  nature." 

"  You're  not  afraid  of  human  nature?  " 

"Are  you?" 

"  A  little.  Yes,  I  am,  a  little.  I  never  know  what's 
coming  out  of  the  bag." 

"  It's  generally  a  cat,"  said  Marian.  "  I'm  not  really 
frightened  of  human  nature.  I  am  very  much  afraid  of 
the  twisting  of  the  human  mind.  It's  so  delicate.  I  see 
so  much  distrust — self -distrust  as  well  as  distrust  of 
others  and  their  motives — that  I  grieve  over  the  multi- 
plication of  what  I  believe  are  called  complexes.  You 
see,  if  you  get  a  mind  half-formed,  and  throw  in  a  bit  of 
dust — a  preoccupation — you  distort  everything,  or  you 
see  it  becoming  distorted;  because  the  half-formed  mind 
takes  a  new  idea  and  tries  to  .  .  .  something  more  than 
assimilate  it.  It  tries  to  make  the  bit  of  dust  explain 
everything  it  doesn't  understand.  Well,  I  don't  see  how 
one  can  understand  everything." 

"  No.    Not  even  one's  self." 

"  One's  self  least  of  all.  I've  seen  a  lot  of  ignorant 
children  making  themselves  ill  over  self -interpretation. 
It's  horrid.    D'you  know  what  happens?  " 

"  No."  He  was  leaning  towards  her,  absorbed  in  her 
disquisition,  sharply  interested  and  critical,  but  also  ex- 
tremely receptive.  Delighted  by  his  attention,  Marian 
explained. 

"  They  get  afraid  of  their  own  impulses.  They 
sophisticate  them.  They  make  themselves  ill.  They  try 
to  escape — from  sheer  nervous  reaction.  They  turn  to 
other  people — charlatans — who  take  advantage  of  their 
silly  credulity ;  or  they  turn  religious ;  or  they  get  suicidal. 
You'll  find  that  among  modern  people,  half-educated, 
suicide  through  zveltschmerz  will  increase  to  a  terrifying 
degree.    I'm  really  serious  in  this." 


PRELUDE  127 

"  I'm  sure  you  are,"  said  Nigel,  warmly.  "  I  don't  dis- 
agree with  you  at  all.  I  think  what  you  say  is  true.  At 
least,  I  see  the  danger." 

"  Of  course,  nothing  is  universal,"  she  agreed.  "  And 
of  course  it  is  all  really  rather  fascinating.  I  mean,  the 
discussion  of  character  and  the  influence  of  ideas,  and  so 
on.     I  admit  that  it  fascinates  me." 

"  And  me,"  said  Nigel.  "  Don't  you  think  it  needs  a 
good  deal  of  courage  to  keep  clear-headed?  " 

"  Or  a  good  deal  of  obtuseness." 

"Or,  I  suppose,  indifference." 

"  Well,  we  all  suffer  from  that,"  Marian  assured  him. 
"  It's  a  sin." 

They  both  laughed  again,  because  neither  had  been 
talking  with  undue  solemnity;  and  in  such  warm  inter- 
change of  glances  it  was  impossible  for  them  not  to  feel 
that  their  new  friendship  had  been  cemented  by  a  kind  of 
intellectual  propinquity. 

iii 

After  luncheon  they  went  out  into  the  garden  and 
walked  slowly  about,  enjoying  the  afternoon's  beauty 
and  the  beauty  of  the  general  flowery  prospect.  The 
great  trees  by  which,  at  a  small  distance,  the  house  was 
partly  surrounded  were  softly  murmuring  and  swaying 
under  the  touch  of  the  summer  breeze.  It  was  exquisite 
to  look  along  the  channels  of  green  that  were  everywhere 
broken  and  decorated  by  some  lovely  contrast,  some  flame 
of  colour,  red  and  blue  and  white.  In  the  heat  of  the  day, 
tempered  though  it  was  by  a  wind  from  the  east,  the 
whole  garden  looked  radiant ;  and  both  Marian  and  Nigel 
were  content  to  wander  without  purpose.  Unknowingly 
they  turned  in  unison  by  instinct,  and  stopped  and  moved 
on  again  in  perfect  harmony. 


128  SEPTEMBER 

"Did  your  visitors  enjoy  being  here?"  Nigel  asked 
at  length.  Marian,  brought  from  her  state  of  thought- 
less ease,  was  for  a  moment  incapable  of  realising  his 
question. 

"Enjoy!  Oh,  Cherry  and  Robert:  yes,  I  think  they 
were  rather  sorry  to  go.  But  they  were  sent  for.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mant  were  going  away." 

"  Oh,  yes."  Neither  was  inclined  to  pursue  this  sub- 
ject. Marian  felt  the  strongest  wish  that  he  should  not 
proceed  farther.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Sinclair  must  have 
declared  herself  at  the  family  table  on  the  subject  of 
Cherry.  And,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  still  unresolved 
questionings  about  Cherry,  Marian  felt  that  she  knew 
more  about  the  girl  than  the  Sinclairs  could  do.  For  a 
moment,  therefore,  she  was  shy. 

"  You're  having  a  good  holiday  yourself,  aren't  you?  " 
she  ventured. 

"  Wonderful.  I've  been  overdoing  it  with  work,  lately. 
I'm  all  on  edge.  My  eyes  have  been  troubling  me;  and 
altogether  I've  been  needing  a  rest   ..." 

"  Your  eyes  ?    How  wretched !  " 

"  Nothing  serious.    But  I've  been  working  hard." 

"What  sort  of  work?" 

"  In  my  father's  office.  I'm  only  there  for  a  time.  I 
want  to  go  in  for  literature;  but  I  promised  to  help  him 
for  a  year  or  two.    He's  just  a  merchant." 

"  Literature !  "  said  Marian.  "  How  does  one  '  go  in  ' 
for  that?" 

Nigel  laughed  at  the  phrase,  which  had  struck  Marian 
as  ludicrous. 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you  that  I'm  going  the  wrong  way," 
he  said,  half-seriously.  "I'm  trying  to  learn  things  out 
of  books." 

Marian,  still  amused,  pursed  her  lips  and  shook  her 
head. 


FRELUDE  129 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  hobby,"  she  said. 

"  How  terrible  of  you!  I  don't  believe  you!  It  needs 
absolute  devotion." 

"  Really !  "  She  pretended  to  think  a  moment.  "  Now 
I  understand  why  good  writers  ...  I  suppose  there 
are  good  writers?  " 

"  None,"  he  answered,  firmly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sinclair!" 

"  None,"  repeated  Nigel.  "  That's  why  I'm  going  to 
be  one.  I'm  going  to  show  what  can  be  done  by 
devotion." 

"  And  talent,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said,  flushing.  "  You  mustn't  mis- 
understand me." 

"  I  don't." 

Nigel  looked  at  her  in  his  searching  way. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  misunderstand  people. 
Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

"  Don't  tell  me  about  myself.  Put  it  in  general  terms. 
Tell  me  why  some  people  understand  more  than  others — 
or  at  least  don't  misunderstand." 

"  You're  snubbing  me."  He  was  for  an  instant  sus- 
picious of  her.  He  was  still  young  enough  to  be  serious 
about  his  own  knowledge. 

"  And  you  say  I  don't  misunderstand  you?  "  she  mur- 
mured. His  face  at  once  changed,  and  he  laughed 
again. 

'  Forgive  me,"  he  begged.  '  Well,  we'll  say — 
people  .  .  .  People  understand  because  .  .  .  This 
is  so  profound  that  I've  forgotten  what  it  is.  Do  let  me 
say — you!  It's  so  much  easier.  You  don't  misunder- 
stand because  you  haven't  any  jealousy  in  your  tempera- 
ment." 

"  Oho !  "  Marian  shook  her  head,  reproachfully. 
"  That's  a  dreadful  give-away." 


130  SEPTEMBER 

"  Because  you're  honest,"  he  persisted.  "  And  .  .  . 
I  should  like  to  know  about  blood-pressure,"  he  naively- 
concluded.  It  was  too  much  for  Marian.  "  I  know  it 
sounds  funny,"  resumed  Nigel,  rather  red,  but  unshaken. 
"  I  meant  it  to.  I'm  not  such  a  fool  .  .  .  No,  no. 
Forgive  me  again.    I  see  I'm  blundering  all  the  time." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are.  I'll  tell  you  why  I  sometimes 
don't  misunderstand.  It's  really  very  simple,  and  not  a 
virtue.  It's  only  that  I'm  extremely  interested.  When 
a  thing  is  said  to  me  I  listen  to  it — really  listen.  As  for 
jealousy — you  don't  know  me.  I'm  very  jealous.  But 
I  try  not  to  be,  and  I  try  not  to  show  it." 

He  had  listened  with  attention,  and  had  nodded  once. 
But  he  protested  against  her  admission  of  jealousy.  It 
made  him  eager. 

"  You  don't  measure  yourself  with  others,"  he  said. 

"  You  don't  know  me  well  enough.  I'm  secretly  very 
arrogant." 

"  You  may  be  that,"  he  agreed.  "  I  think  you  must 
have  great  pride.  But  just  because  of  that,  you  don't 
measure  yourself  with  others." 

Marian  put  her  fingers  lightly  upon  his  arm. 

"  I'm  past  the  age  at  which  a  sensible  woman  minds 
feeling  inferior,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I've  grown  used  to 
my  own  limitations.  But  you  know  you'd  have  done  far 
better  to  keep  to  impersonal  general  statements.  We're 
all  egotists." 

"  Except  you,"  cried  Nigel,  impulsively.  He  had 
touched  her  fingers  with  his  own  hand,  in  emphasis.  He 
was  looking  directly  into  her  face.  And  at  that  instant 
Marian,  glancing  past  him,  saw  that  they  had  been  ap- 
proaching the  little  wood  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  and 
that  Howard  was  standing  just  inside  the  wood,  watch- 
ing them. 


CHAPTER  III:  POLITICS 


ONLY  for  a  moment  did  the  sudden  appearance  of 
Howard  embarrass  Marian. 

"  Oh,  there's  my  husband,"  she  said,  and  nodded  and 
smiled  in  the  direction  of  the  wood.  Howard  stepped 
from  it  and  came  towards  them.  "  You've  had  your 
lunch,  I  expect,"  she  continued,  as  the  two  men  shook 
hands.  "  We  didn't  wait.  Mr.  Sinclair  very  nobly  came 
over  just  before  lunch."  In  speaking,  she  took  in  the 
details  of  Howard's  appearance,  and  his  slightly  in- 
credulous stare  at  herself;  but  she  gave  no  sign  of  the 
mild  amusement  she  felt  at  his  watchfulness.  Howard 
made  some  reply,  which  was  inaudible;  and  then  he  an- 
nounced that  he  was  going  to  have  a  bath.  Perspiration 
showed  in  the  lines  about  his  eyes.  He  looked  worn  and 
jaded.  He  passed  them  on  his  way  to  the  house.  The 
moment  he  was  out  of  earshot,  Nigel  said: 

'  Surely  your  husband's  ill,  Mrs.  Forster.  He  looks 
ill." 

"  He's  been  all  the  week  in  town,"  she  explained, 
hoping  he  would  believe  her.  "  It  must  be  very  tiring. 
He's  been  working  hard.  And  Howard's  really  a  country 
man.  His  happiness  is  all  in  the  country.  He  must  have 
missed  the  exercise  he  gets  here." 

But  to  herself  Marian  was  thinking:  His  happiness  is 
lost  now.  He  wants  distraction — society.  And  how  am 
I  to  get  him  that?  It  would  be  far  better  if  I  could  per- 
suade him  to  come  abroad.  I  must  try  again.  This  is 
going  to  be  insupportable,  if  it  goes  on. 

131 


132  SEPTEMBER 

"  I'm  sorry  he's  run  down,"  observed  Nigel. 

Marian  wondered  how  perceptive  he  really  was.  She 
made  no  reply,  and  they  continued  to  stroll  about  the 
garden,  not  speaking. 

"  D'you  know  we're  expecting  a  swarm  of  bees?  "  she 
said  at  length.    "  And  have  you  ever  seen  such  a  thing?  " 

"  Never.  I  should  like  to."  He  was  instantly 
vivacious  again. 

"  You  must  come  over  to  see  us  very  very  soon ;  and 
then  we  must  try  and  give  you  an  entertainment.  It's 
very  interesting — and  very  exhausting  in  this  hot 
weather.  I  think  that  with  July  we  shall  find  the  heat 
more  trying  than  it  has  been.  There  won't  be  this 
delicious  breeze ;  and  we  shall  all  feel  very  limp  and  help- 
less. All  the  same,  don't  you  think  the  summer  is  by  far 
the  most  lovely  season  of  the  year?  " 

"  The  early  summer,  yes,"  he  agreed.  "  Not  the  late 
summer." 

"  You  mean  September?  "  Marian  asked. 

"  The  freshness  has  gone — the  attractiveness." 

"  I  suppose  so."  Marian  sighed  at  the  thought  of  the 
summer's  eventual  decline.  "  But  it's  less  melancholy 
than  the  autumn.    And  less  bleak   ..." 

"  It's  very  near  to  autumn,"  said  Nigel,  rather 
gloomily. 

At  his  hollow  tone  Marian  drew  herself  a  little  apart 
from  her  guest.  His  words  had  chilled  her.  It  was 
extraordinary  how  unwelcome  was  the  emotion  evoked  by 
Nigel's  speech. 

"  Every  season  has  its  beauties,"  she  faintly  protested. 

The  late  summer  as  weM  as  the  early.  It's  less  the  time 
of  bloom  and  promise,  I  agree;  but  it's  the  time  of 
fruition." 

Nigel  pondered. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  unconsciously  applying  her  protest. 


POLITICS  133 

"  I  don't  expect  I  can  be  fair  to  it.  I  suppose  bloom  and 
promise  still  mean  so  much  to  me.  I'm  still  too  senti- 
mental to  view  fulfilment  as  beautiful.  It's  wrong,  I 
can  see." 

"  Even  old  age  has  its  charm,"  responded  Marian, 
drily.  But  a  sad  feeling  of  unease  stole  upon  her;  and 
both  thereafter  became  thoughtful. 

ii 

Howard  met  them  at  tea,  which  was  a  silent  meal.  All 
three  had  many  things  to  turn  over  in  their  minds.  The 
two  men,  in  particular,  had  no  common  ground,  for 
Howard  was  essentially  a  man  of  affairs,  and  Nigel,  when 
he  had  no  sense  of  temperamental  interplay,  was  inclined 
to  fall  into  speechlessness.  To  Marian,  sitting  between 
them,  it  appeared  that  Nigel  was  by  far  the  more  in- 
triguing. She  even  liked  his  silence,  which  was  not  that 
of  apathy;  and  she  read  into  it  upon  this  occasion  a 
flattery  the  more  grateful  because  it  was  unconscious. 
She  had  peeped  into  a  mind  very  quick  in  its  responses. 
She  was  piqued  with  curiosity  as  to  what  was  withheld. 
It  was  not  as  though  Nigel  gave  himself  to  all  comers: 
he  clearly  needed  a  genuine  companion  before  he  could 
conquer  his  natural  self-control.  That  alone  would  have 
warmed  her  heart;  but  when  she  could  remember  his 
recent  outrunning  to  her  own  thoughts  the  throbbing 
knowledge  of  power  to  affect  his  sensitive  nature  was  all 
the  more  pleasant.  She  found  herself  speculating  deeply 
into  the  resources  of  his  mind.  For  the  first  time  she  was 
aware  that  she  too  had  questions  to  ask.  Her  interest  in 
him  was  strongly  aroused.  Already  she  felt  the  pleasant 
glow  that  comes  of  curiosity  regarding  an  unfamiliar  per- 
sonality. All  this  was  heightened  by  his  present  reserve, 
which  was  reserve  in  face  of  a  third  person  unsusceptible 
to  the  question  with  which  his  intimate  thoughts  were 


134  SEPTEMBER 

concerned.  Pride  in  his  instinctive  deference  to  her  own 
perceptiveness  was  keen  and  sweet.  She  looked  at  him 
with  a  liking  which  had  increased  as  the  result  of  their 
colloquy.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  his  face,  absorbing  the 
mobile  mouth,  the  slightly-roughened  hair,  the  clean  out- 
line of  the  face  itself.  Her  breath  came  more  quickly, 
and  she  slowly  withdrew  her  glance  and  directed  it  else- 
where.   For  a  moment  Marian  was  in  a  dream. 

"  Are  you  staying  much  longer  in  Suffolk,  Mr.  Sin- 
clair? "  she  presently  asked. 

Nigel  started,  as  though  his  thoughts  also  had  been 
preoccupied. 

"  A  fortnight,"  he  said.  "Possibly  three  weeks.  Then 
I  go  back  to  London.  I  shall  certainly  be  there  by  the 
beginning  of  August." 

"  You  may  go  on  somewhere  else  ?  " 

"  Yes.    To  some  friends  in  Hampshire." 

Howard  stirred  himself.  He  looked  with  a  half-frown 
across  the  table. 

"  Don't  you  find  it  very  dead-and-alive  down  here  ?  " 
he  demanded.  "  I  should  have  thought  a  young  fellow 
like  you   ..." 

"  Mr.  Sinclair  has  been  ill,"  interposed  Marian.  "  He's 
having  a  thorough  rest." 

"  I  see.  I  was  thinking  sea  air,  and  bathing  .  .  . 
The  country's  all  very  well  for  older  people.  For  you 
and  me,  we'll  say.    And  his  uncle  and  aunt." 

Howard  did  not  look  at  Marian  as  he  spoke.  Marian, 
looking  involuntarily  at  Nigel,  saw  him  wince  and  colour. 

"  But  Mrs.  Forster's  not  ..."  He  stopped  abruptly, 
and  instantly  resumed  :  "  Do  you  find  it  dull  here?  "  The 
question  was  for  Marian.  "  I  shouldn't  think  you  were 
ever  dull." 

"  I'm  very  rarely  dull,"  she  acknowledged.  How 
strangely  her  voice  sounded!     It  held  a  pain  that  she 


POLITICS  135 

was  unconscious  of  feeling.  She  too  had  been  wounded 
by  Howard's  speech,  but,  it  seemed,  impersonally. 

"  I've  had  a  good  deal  of  the  other  kind  of  activity," 
Nigel  explained,  turning  back  to  Howard,  and  surveying 
him,  Marian  thought,  with  a  thin  shadow  of  arrogance. 
Howard  grunted  in  acquiescence.  "  It's  not  the  only 
possible  relaxation." 

"  I  thought  it  was,"  Howard  said,  "  for  young  men." 
He  looked  down  at  his  boots. 

Really,  there  was  no  need  for  Howard  to  be  so  boorish 
in  the  indication  of  his  lack  of  interest  in  Nigel !  Marian 
had  never  previously  felt  the  discomfort  of  having  a 
friend  of  whose  intimacy  Howard  disapproved.  That 
peculiar  difficulty  of  married  life  had  been  hitherto  non- 
existent. And  Howard's  friends  .  .  .  she  had  always 
supposed  that  a  husband's  friends  were  "  different,"  un- 
less he  introduced  them  to  the  house.  After  all,  Nigel 
was  at  the  house  ...  It  was  a  problem,  calculated  to 
bring  annoyance  into  their  lives.  She  could  not  bear  to 
have  a  quarrel  between  the  two  men. 

"  If  you  go  on  to  your  friends,"  she  inquired,  "  will 
there  be  young  people  there  ?  " 

Nigel  laughed  enjoyingly — a  little  frank  laugh.  His 
eyes  contracted  as  if  at  a  vision. 

"  Whole  tribes !  "  he  said.  "  It's  a  large  family — boys 
and  girls  I've  grown  up  with.  About  .  .  .  seven  of 
them.  And  their  friends  spotted  all  round  them  in  the 
district." 

Marian  gave  no  heed  to  this  speech.  Only  one  word 
had  caught  her  attention,  and  had  deafened  her  to  the 
rest.  "  Girls !  "  she  thought.  "  Yes,  of  course."  Her 
quick  mind  instantly  began  voyaging  among  hidden  possi- 
bilities. 


136  SEPTEMBER 

iii 

They  had  finished  tea,  and  were  still  sitting  by  the 
table,  when  an  uncontrollable  restlessness  seized  Marian. 
She  felt  that  she  could  no  longer  remain  still.  A  return 
of  that  new  feeling  of  sterile  life  urged  her  to  some 
action,  however  inexplicable.    She  suddenly  rose. 

"  Let's  go  and  look  at  the  bees,"  she  cried.  "  Howard, 
Mr.  Sinclair  has  never  seen  a  swarm;  so  I've  begged  him 
to  come  over  when  he  feels  that  ours  may  be  imminent." 

She  was  glad  that  Nigel  so  quickly  followed  her,  glad, 
too,  that  Howard  remained  in  his  chair.  Howard's  pres- 
ence was  a  source  of  discomfort.  She  could  deal  with 
him  alone — it  was  so  easy;  but  she  could  not  control  his 
grufrness  towards  another,  or  in  presence  of  another. 
When  they  were  together  she  was  perfectly  mistress  of 
his  moods ;  but  she  knew  how  quickly  he  became  a  boor, 
and  did  himself  injustice.  She  had  so  often  seen  him 
behave  badly  that  it  no  longer  surprised  her  into  indig- 
nation. She  merely  felt  shame.  And  to  Marian  at  this 
moment  it  was  essential  that  she  should  not  lose  her  new 
friend,  as  she  might  do  if  he  found  his  welcome  chilled 
and  spoiled  by  the  chagrin  of  a  suffering  man. 

Together,  Marian  and  Nigel  made  their  way  from  the 
lawn  to  the  orchard.  Here,  upon  its  outer  limits,  were 
placed  three  or  four  square  hives.  A  gentle  humming 
was  in  the  air,  and  above  each  of  the  hives  drove  a  few 
wandering  bees,  hovering  about  their  home,  laden  and 
absorbed.  Below,  in  the  low  entrance  to  each  hive,  other 
bees,  arriving  from  afar,  swooped  and  crawled  to  the 
entrance  and  beyond  sight.  They  were  the  symbol  of 
busy  life,  all  concerned  only  with  the  great  affairs  of  the 
hive,  blind  to  the  presence  of  strangers. 

"  Inside,"  explained  Marian,  "  are  frames  that  are 
being  filled  with  honey.    I  expect  some  of  them  are  full; 


POLITICS  137 

but  others  are  only  half-full,  and  all  the  little  cells  are 
being  steadily  filled  by  the  bees.  I  can't  show  you  the 
insides  of  the  hives  now;  but  you  shall  see  them  another 
time.  If  you've  never  seen  such  things  you'll  be  very 
interested.  The  honey  we  had  for  tea  all  comes  from 
these  hives.  We're  able  to  have  honey  all  the  year  round. 
It's  one  of  my  hobbies." 

"You  look  after  them  all  yourself?"  Nigel  asked, 
wonderingly.  "  No  wonder  you're  too  busy  to  think  of 
questions  for  me." 

Marian  shook  her  head,  smiling.    It  was  such  a  naivete. 

"  I  help,"  she  said.  "  But  I  can't  manage  the  swarm- 
ing or  the  hiving.  They  need  too  much  acrobatic  skill. 
But  the  general  bee-keeping  is  fascinating.  You  see,  one 
has  such  a  sense  of  incessant,  engrossed  work  for  the 
community." 

"  Common  ownership,"  he  interpreted. 

"  They  certainly  have  solved  that  problem — as  men 
haven't  done  yet.  But  they're  all — the  workers — women, 
which  explains  that,"  agreed  Marian.  "  And  there's  an 
extraordinary  sacrifice  of  life  involved.  There's  a  hor- 
rible sense  of  the  individual's  unimportance.  I  think  I 
rebel  against  that.  It's  purely  instinctive,  of  course,  both 
the  indifference  and  the  rebellion." 

"  There's  not  much  sense  of  the  dignity  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  our  own  life,"  suggested  Nigel.  "There's  a 
great  deal  of  talk  about  it,  of  course.  Stupid,  complacent, 
self-righteous  talk.    The  worker,  and  so  on   ..." 

Marian  again  shook  her  head.    Her  voice  was  subdued. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  really  cynical,"  she  said.  "  I 
shouldn't  like  you  to  be  that.  Where  you  have  life  on 
the  grand  scale — not  the  grand  scale;  ...  I  don't 
quite  know  what  I  mean ;  but  say,  in  bulk — you  must 
surely  have  some  suppression  of  the  individual.  I  should 
have  thought  it  always  had  been  involved.    It's  the  whole 


138  SEPTEMBER 

natural  order.  All  birds  and  beasts  exist — or  they  seem 
to  exist — only  for  the  continuance  of  their  kind.  It 
seems  inevitable.  I  sometimes  think  that  we're  more 
conscious  of  that  nowadays — with  human  beings — simply 
because  we're  conscious  of  the  number  of  people  there  are 
in  the  world.  They're  more  vocal.  They  protest  more 
against  their  subordination.  Personally,  I  find  the  sense 
of  millions  of  other  people,  working  and  striving,  always 
for  meals  and  clothing  and  warmth.  ...  I  find  it 
altogether  paralysing.  I  can't  yoke  it  with  my  own  life, 
and  this  quiet  garden.    It  shouldn't  be  so." 

"  No.    It  shouldn't,"  agreed  Nigel,  warmly. 

"  One  ought  to  feel  part  of  the  whole." 

"  Yes.  I  do.  I  feel  bitterly  resentful  of  the  common 
injustice.  Sometimes  so  resentful  that  I  want  to  over- 
run the  earth,  so  as  to  destroy  the  complacency  of  all 
the  mediocrities  who  keep  injustice  all-powerful  by  the 
sheer  weight  of  their  numbers  and  wealth." 

Marian  considered  for  a  moment.  His  voice,  although 
quiet,  had  betrayed  emotion  deeply  felt.  She  thought: 
He's  an  idealist,  and  a  sensitive ;  but  his  idealism  is  the 
sensitiveness  of  a  young  man.  He's  a  rebel  against  order 
by  instinct.  He  doesn't  really  grasp  the  universe,  as  he 
thinks  he  does. 

"  I'm  interested  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  said;  "be- 
cause it  tells  me  something  about  yourself.  But  I  don't 
think  I'm  interested  in  it  as  a  view  of  life,  because  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  mixture  of  socialism  and  aristocratic 
sentiment.    And  they  seem  to  me  to  be  incompatible." 

"  That's  just  what  it  is — a  mixture  of  socialism  and 
aristocracy.  That's  the  social  religion  of  the  future," 
cried  Nigel.  "  Common  ownership,  and  government  by 
the  wise  men  of  the  earth.  Laws  conceived  by  the  wise 
men,  and  gladly  accepted  by  the  whole  community.  Not 
this  present  grasping,  careerist  charlatanry.   .    .    .     Oh, 


POLITICS  139 

I  could  be  very  expansive — very  eloquent  about  this.     I 
feel  it  so  deeply." 

"  I'm  sure  you  do,"  Marian  murmured.  But  she  was 
thinking  all  the  time  of  Nigel,  of  his  character  as  it  was 
revealed  in  his  speech,  of  his  future,  of  the  people  he 
must  know.  Somehow  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  until 
now  to  think  of  his  acquaintance  with  others.  Yet  she 
could  know  nothing  of  his  life.  It  was  something  en- 
tirely outside  herself.  It  must  have  ramifications  unsus- 
pected. How  little  she  knew  of  him!  How  much  she 
wished  to  know !  He  had  spoken  of  "  boys  and  girls  " — 
yes,  but  how  great  were  the  temptations  of  youth :  how 
great  a  world  opened  to  him !  Boys  and  girls — he  would 
one  day  marry.  .  .  .  Instinctively  she  again  looked  at 
his  face,  speculating.  She  hoped  his  wife  would  be  a  girl 
wise  and  true  and  tender.  Wise  to  help  him,  true  to  him 
in  health,  and  tender  in  conservation  of  his  ardent  spirit. 
It  would  be  a  great  opportunity,  an  enviable  oppor- 
tunity. ...  As  she  thought  that,  Marian  sighed 
sharply.  It  appeared  to  her  that  she  was  surprisingly 
tired;  and  her  eyes  smarted  a  little,  as  if  she  had  been 
straining  them,  or  as  if  they  had  been  full  of  tears. 

iv 

All  this  time  Nigel,  unconscious  of  her  thoughts,  was 
eagerly  concerned  with  his  passionate  feeling  for  human 
justice  and  the  improvement  of  the  world.  Marian  heard 
him  say  the  names  of  Solon  and  Lycurgus;  she  heard 
him  speak  of  Marx  and  Nietzsche  and  Godwin  and 
Shelley.  His  enthusiasm  would  have  been  infectious  if 
she  had  not  been  watching  him  with  the  pride  of  a 
woman.  He  was  at  this  instant  the  embodiment  of  all 
that  was  strangely  and  poignantly  pathetic  in  ardent 
human  endeavour.  Too  conservative  in  temperament  to 
image  a  world  of  gods,  too  experienced  in  human  nature 


140  SEPTEMBER 

to  believe  that  Nigel  could  endure  a  perfect  world,  she 
listened  only  to  Lis  voice,  and  saw  only  his  fine  careless 
enthusiasm.  He  was  carried  to  a  pitch  of  eloquence  for 
which  she  could  have  no  possible  use,  so  quiet  and  deli- 
cate was  her  absorption  in  the  analysis  of  common  things. 
And  yet  all  the  time — and  Marian  sub-consciously  knew 
it — Nigel  was  pouring  out  his  heart  in  the  confident  belief 
that  she  was  with  him,  as  ardent  as  himself,  understand- 
ing more  than  he  could  express,  responding  with  her  sym- 
pathy to  every  discovery  that  he  made  as  he  talked.  It 
was  an  amusing  game  of  cross-interests — Nigel,  the 
young  man,  interested  in  ideas;  Marian,  the  mature 
woman,  interested  only  in  people.  A  providence,  over- 
looking the  two,  would  have  smiled  ironically  and  per- 
haps would  have  sighed. 


It  was  long  before  they  returned  to  the  house;  and 
Nigel  immediately  started  the  engine  of  his  car.  Again 
Marian  stood  at  the  door,  watching  a  departure.  Rue- 
fully, she  noted  this,  and  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  one 
of  her  inevitable  duties.  But  she  laughed  a  little  also,  for 
her  heart  was  light  and  her  spirits  high.  She  went  with 
the  quick  step  of  elation  back  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
then,  moved  by  a  whim,  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and 
began  the  Chopin  Ballade  which  Nigel  had  played  upon 
his  first  visit.  She  played  with  sensitiveness,  but  she  had 
not  the  executive  skill  for  such  music ;  and  she  gradually 
knew  that  the  mood  she  had  sought  to  deepen  was  going 
away  from  her. 

The  piano  closed,  Marian  stood  long  in  thought  before 
the  empty  fireplace.  She  went  back  in  her  mind  through 
the  whole  afternoon.  Her  smile  was  inscrutable.  Words 
and  words  and  words  made  a  background  to  her  memory ; 
but  her  intuitions  were  deeper  than  words,  for  she  was 


POLITICS  141 

occupied  in  imagining  a  character.  Quickly,  as  an  artist 
works,  she  was  giving  form  and  originality  to  the  new 
knowledges,  and  adding  others  that  she  drew  from  within 
herself  far  down  in  her  secret  heart  where  all  understand- 
ing lay  hidden  from  prying  eyes.  She  felt  God-like  with 
wisdom.  She  bestrode  the  world  and  the  human  species. 
Magnificently  she  had  created  an  image  of  a  young  man 
— not  to  worship  but  to  comprehend. 

Still  elated  she  gave  a  low  laugh. 

"  He's  such  a  boy  .  .  .  !  "  she  murmured.  Then  her 
face  became  perfectly  grave,  beautiful  in  its  serenity.  A 
last  shaft  of  the  setting  sun  put  rich  gold  in  her  hair, 
and  made  her  eyes  bright  and  shining.  She  stood  erect, 
tall  and  young  and  bewildering  in  her  power  to  charm. 
It  was  at  this  moment  that  Howard  came  into  the  room 
by  the  door  immediately  to  her  left ;  and  when,  her  ex- 
pression unchanged,  she  turned  towards  the  door,  it  was 
to  see  it  closing  as  Howard  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  IV:  THE  SWARM 


THE  next  three  days  were  remarkably  quiet. 
Howard  appeared  regularly  at  meals,  but  did  not 
stay  longer  in  Marian's  company.  He  was  considerate 
and  agreeable  in  behaviour,  but  his  attention  was  uncer- 
tain. A  settled  melancholy  was  to  be  seen  in  his  bearing 
— sometimes  a  melancholy  that  was  comically  exag- 
gerated, nearly  always  a  wondering  stupid  sadness  that 
made  him  easily  handled,  as  cattle  are  easily  handled. 
He  was  quiet  and  pacific.  And  yet  Marian  was  some- 
times conscious  that  he  was  staring  at  her,  trying  in  vain 
to  discover  something  that  she  hid  under  her  own  quiet- 
ness. She  could  not  help  seeking  by  reflection  to  learn 
what  it  was  that  so  intrigued  Howard.  Was  it  something 
to  do  with  Cherry?    She  could  not  tell. 

Cherry  had  written  upon  arrival  in  London — a  charm- 
ing little  scribble  of  thanks,  hastily  written,  warm  only  if 
in  reading  the  letter  one  imagined  her  prettiness ;  and  then 
Marian  heard  nothing  further.  She  still  did  not  under- 
stand Cherry's  state  of  mind  towards  Howard.  She 
merely  hoped  for  the  best.  Already  the  acute  memory  of 
the  scene  in  the  wood  was  fading.  It  was  taking  its  place 
among  many  other  recollections,  to  be  summoned  at  will, 
but  not  to  be  dwelt  upon  in  current  thought.  Marian 
believed  the  episode  to  be  finished.  Her  imagining  of 
Cherry  was  again  almost  wholly  pleasant.  From  Robert 
she  did  not  hear.  She  would  do  so  presently,  when  he 
found  time  to  perform  a  tiresome  duty. 

So  the  days  went  on,  and  she  worked  as  usual  at  her 

142 


THE  SWARM  143 

ordinary  tasks,  and  each  morning  and  afternoon  more 
than  once  visited  the  beehives.  Occasionally  the  sections 
were  lifted  out  for  her  examination,  and  she  gloated  be- 
comingly over  the  honey  that  the  bees  were  so  busily 
storing.  Her  interest  in  the  bees  was  unfailing.  She 
found  their  life  and  their  energy  altogether  the  most 
absorbing  thing  among  all  the  common  details  of  her 
existence.  Far  beyond  housekeeping  or  gardening,  be- 
cause the  bees  had  something  of  human  interest  for 
Marian,  as  they  have  for  all  who  care  to  study  them.  She 
longed  for  the  swarm.    Everything  was  ready  for  it. 

ii 

And  upon  the  third  day  after  Nigel's  visit  he  came 
again,  about  the  same  time  in  the  forenoon.  He  had 
motored  over,  charged  with  messages  and  invitations 
from  his  aunt ;  and  it  was  understood  that  on  the  Thurs- 
day, two  days  later,  he  should  come  in  the  afternoon  to 
take  Marian  back  to  tea  and  dinner.  The  invitation  had 
embraced  Howard ;  but  Howard  was  going  up  to  London 
on  Thursday  morning,  to  return  on  Friday  night.  Ac- 
cordingly it  was  modified,  so  as  to  apply  to  Marian  alone. 
She  was  surprised  and  delighted  at  the  elation  that 
softened  her  heart. 

They  were  at  first  in  the  house ;  but  although  the  house 
was  cool  the  garden,  in  this  miraculously-continued  fine 
weather,  was  too  enticing  to  be  neglected.  It  was  still 
too  early  for  the  lack  of  rain  to  be  seriously  felt,  and 
while  the  green  was  everywhere  showing  signs  of  dryness 
the  brilliance  of  the  flowers,  forced,  as  it  were,  by  the 
sun's  persistence,  made  the  garden  vehement  with  colour. 

"  We've  got  nothing  like  this,  you  know !  "  exclaimed 
Nigel,  standing  bareheaded  in  the  sun,  and  making  an 
easy  gesture  with  his  hand.  "  Nothing.  Your  gardener 
must  be  a  genius. 


>> 


1 44  SEPTEMBER 

"  Although  you  wouldn't  perhaps  think  it,  my  husband 
often  does  a  great  deal  in  the  garden.  He's  got  a  sense 
of  management  ..."  Marian  was  glad  to  praise 
Howard. 

"  How  strange!  "  said  Nigel,  unaware  of  his  grudging 
tone.  "One  doesn't  think  of  him  ..."  He  paused, 
looking  a  little  uncomfortable.  Marian  caught  the  slight- 
est shrug  of  his  shoulders,  as  at  something  inexpressible. 
How  queer  it  was  that  the  men  should  both  be  so  quick  to 
feel  hostility  to  one  another.  Women  claimed  intuitions 
as  their  own  property,  but  surely  men  were  as  unreason- 
ing in  likes  and  dislikes!  She  could  explain  the  annoy- 
ance of  each  with  the  other;  but  not  this  finality  of  judg- 
ment.   Faintly,  she  shook  her  head  at  the  problem. 

"  It's  difficult  to  realise  what  other  people  can  do. 
We're  so  dependent  on  what  we  see  them  do.  I've  often 
known  people  for  years — and  then  heard  them  sing,  or 
seen  something  they've  made  with  wood  or  thread,  or  a 
pair  of  pincers;  and  so  learned  that  I  had  never  known 
them  properly  at  all.  You  know,  people  are  awfully  sur- 
prising, if  you  make  up  your  mind  about  them." 

"  Quite,"  agreed  Nigel.  "  I  see  what  you  mean.  Of 
course,  one  overrates  the  possibilities  of  a  few.  I  mean, 
one  thinks  they  could  do  anything.  Often  enough  they 
don't." 

"  I  expect  they  do  other  things,"  suggested 
Marian. 

"  How  magnanimous  you  are !  "  he  cried,  admiringly. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  She  was  not  displeased  at  his  blurted  en- 
thusiasm ;  but  she  was  assuredly  unprepared  for  it.  "  I 
think  I'm  very  ignorant.  Do  you  realise  that  I  don't 
know  anything  at  all  about  the  way  you  live,  and  the 
people  you  know,  and  where  you've  been,  and  what  you 
know?" 

Nigel  turned  to  her  in  quick  delight. 


THE  SWARM  145 

"Then  there  are  things  you  want  to  ask  me!"  he 
exclaimed,  with  exultation. 

Marian  turned  to  him,  smiling  gravely.  Nigel  coloured 
to  his  forehead,  a  hot  vivid  flush  that  rose  like  flame 
through  his  tan. 

iii 

It  was  just  then  that  the  faintest  sound  was  heard 
above  all  the  sounds  of  the  garden.  It  resembled  the 
singing  of  a  kettle,  the  peculiar  noise  that  rises  when  first 
the  water  determines  upon  boiling.  For  some  instants, 
perhaps,  it  had  been  imperceptible.  Then  it  floated 
above  the  garden,  a  soft  humming.    Marian  started. 

"  Hark !  "  she  cried.     "  What's  that  ?  " 

"An  aeroplane  far  away   ..." 

"  No,  no.  It's  the  swarm.  Hurry !  "  She  ran,  and 
Nigel  followed.  They  quickly  reached  the  orchard;  but 
before  they  did  so  they  could  see  the  bees  climbing  and 
inextricably  mingling  in  the  air,  like  motes  stung  to 
sudden  fury.  Passing  and  repassing,  climbing  ever 
higher,  augmented  each  instant  in  numbers,  the  bees  filled 
all  the  air  with  their  drone.  Marian  gave  a  quick  gesture. 
"  Stay  here  and  watch  where  they  go !  "  she  commanded. 
"  I  must  find  Ledyer  and  bring  him !  "  She  ran  again, 
leaving  Nigel  with  his  head  in  the  air  and  his  eyes  intent. 
She  hurried  first  to  Ledyer — who  was  bee-keeper  as  well 
as  chief  gardener — and  he  ran  to  the  orchard  with  a 
great  can  of  water.  Then  Marian,  following,  carried  a 
syringe.  The  other  impedimenta  of  bee-keeping  were  in 
a  small  shed  near  the  hives,  and  thither  Ledyer  had  pre- 
ceded her.  Standing  away,  Marian  tried  by  means  of  the 
syringe  to  keep  the  bees  low.  They  clouded  the  air, 
incredibly  numerous.  There  were  perhaps  thirty  thou- 
sand of  them,  a  perfect  storm  of  bees. 

:  The  queen  has  left  the  hive,"  she  hurriedly  explained 


146  SEPTEMBER 

to  Nigel.  "  She  goes  on  laying  eggs  until  there  is  no 
room  for  any  more.  Then  she  goes,  and  lots  of  the  others 
follow.  She  goes  to  make  a  new  community,  d'you  see. 
She's  done  all  her  work  in  the  old  one.  So  she  leaves  it. 
We  want  to  keep  the  bees  low,  because  otherwise  we  may 
lose  them.  Sometimes  they  go  for  miles.  Oh,  isn't  it 
exciting  to  see  them  and  hear  them  like  this ! ,;  Marian 
was  transfigured.  If  she  had  been  troubled  at  new 
aspects  of  Nigel,  and  of  Cherry,  she  may  have  realised 
less  acutely  the  variability  of  her  own  nature.  She  was 
like  a  child,  and  like  a  commander.  She  was  a  child  in 
her  interest,  a  commander  in  her  resolve.  She  thought 
nothing  at  this  moment  of  Nigel ;  but  only,  all-absorbedly, 
of  the  bees. 

The  humming  increased.  It  was  now  the  singing  of  a 
boiler,  a  large,  swelling  noise  that  dominated  the  air. 
The  bees,  still  driving  through  and  into  and  over  their 
comrades,  like  dust  in  an  eddying  wind,  were  obviously 
heading  away.  Instead  of  being  columnar  in  formation 
they  spread  out  and  indicated  the  direction  of  their 
flight. 

"  Follow !    Follow  quickly!  "  cried  Marian. 

They  were  off — sweeping  and  swirling  in  the  air. 

Ledyer,  a  brown  man  of  forty,  with  eyes  deep-set  and 
patient,  kept  on  saying,  half  to  himself  : 

"  That's  a  good  swarm.  That's  a  good  swarm." 
Aloud,  he  added,  "  They're  going  towards  the  plum.  .  .  . 
See,  they're  making  for  the  old  plum." 

Many  bees  remained  still  near  the  hive;  but,  still  in 
billowing  flight,  the  main  body  had  swept  across  the  open 
space  in  the  orchard,  and  as  Ledyer  had  indicated  were 
already  settling  high  in  an  old  plum  tree.  They  still 
formed  a  cloud;  but  it  was  once  again  a  concentrated 
cloud,  mobile  indeed,  but  revolving  around  a  fixed  point. 
The  queen  had  settled  upon  the  tree.    In  a  few  minutes 


THE  SWARM  U7 

the  place  she  had  chosen,  a  cleft  near  the  trunk,  from 
which  two  large  branches  extended  themselves,  was 
brown  and  glistening  with  bees.  They  crowded  together, 
on  top  of  one  another,  a  humming,  moving  cushion  of 
buzzing  creatures. 

Marian  turned,  sighing  with  amused  relief,  to  Nigel. 

"It's  a  good  place!"  she  explained.  "Isn't  it  an 
extraordinary  sight !  " 

"  Yes.  Wonderful.  Wonderful !  It's  fascinating. 
What  happens  now  ?  " 

"  We  just  wait,  standing  looking  up  at  them.  Then 
we  put  veils  on  and  Ledyer  gets  a  skep  and  puts  it  over 
them,  or  he  brushes  them  into  it ;  and  then  we  leave  them 
in  the  skep,  and  later  in  the  day  we  hive  them.  Unless 
they  swarm  again.    That  sometimes  happens." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  " 

"  For  us  it  may  mean  the  loss  of  the  bees.  I  don't 
know  why  they  should  swarm  again.  Sometimes  it's  an 
oppressive  day,  and  they're  restless  and  won't  stop  in  the 
first  place." 

"It's  splendid!" 

"  I  knew  you'd  like  it."  Marian  was  quite  close  to  him 
as  she  spoke  in  this  moved  tone  of  intimate  confidence. 
Their  eyes  met. 

iv 

She  had  known  he  would  enjoy  the  experience  of  see- 
ing the  bees  swarm,  because  she  herself  enjoyed  it.  Her 
delights  were  his  delights,  she  thought.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  all  the  time  stumbling  upon  identities,  upon 
parallels,  in  their  natures  and  in  the  things  they  loved. 
She  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  of  synthesising  these; 
but  she  had  such  confidence  in  him,  and  she  was  so  eager 
to  give  him  pleasure,  that  she  could  only  think :  "  We  like 
the  same  things.     The  same  things  move  us  and  delight 


148  SEPTEMBER 

us.    How  could  he  fail  to  understand  what  I  understand  ? 
The  world's  before  him!  " 

So  when  their  glances  met  thus  intimately  Marian  was 
warmly  happy,  caressing  him  with  her  eyes,  as  a  mother 
caresses  a  child  by  her  merest  glance  of  affection.  And 
Nigel's  response  was  a  wondering  happiness  as  great  in 
its  way  as  her  own.  They  were  two  children  upon  a 
summer  day,  happy  in  the  hour  and  their  own  relation. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  They  could  only  stand 
or  sit  watching  the  bees  clustering  upon  the  plum  tree, 
a  moving  mass.  So  they  stayed  for  many  minutes,  until 
most  of  the  flying  bees  had  been  absorbed  and  a  great 
tail  of  bee  hung  down  from  the  tree-trunk. 

"  I  think  it's  all  right  now,"  said  Marian  to  Ledyer. 
"  Have  you  got  the  skep?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.    Here.    T'll  get  the  ladder." 
"  And  the  veils."     Turning  again  to  Nigel,   Marian 
added.    "  You'd  better  have  a  veil." 
"Can  I  help?" 

"  I  think  you'd  better  not.    Two  people  are  enough.    A 
third  might  get  stung.    You'd  better  just  watch  from  a 
little  distance,  and  take  care." 
"  Then  I  won't  have  a  veil." 

"Just  as  you  like.  They're  stifling,  of  course;  and  if 
you  stand  away  there  isn't  really  much  danger.  If  a  bee 
comes  towards  you,  step  quickly  into  the  shade." 

Ledyer  was  back  again.  A  straw  skep  lay  upon  the 
ground,  and  he  carried  veils  which  Marian  and  he  as- 
sumed. Marian's  had  a  small  inset  piece  of  black  veiling 
before  the  eyes;  but  the  rest  was  white,  and  fitted  over 
a  little  black  cap  which  she  wore.  Neither  she  nor  Ledyer 
wore  gloves.  In  a  very  business-like  way  they  advanced 
to  their  work. 

"  Keep  well  back !  "  cried  Marian.  But  Nigel  was  so 
fascinated  that  he  followed  more  closely  than  she  wished. 


THE  SWARM  149 

He  was  almost  immediately  behind  her.  "  Don't  take 
risks."  He  only  smiled,  and  Marian,  smiling  in  reply, 
looked  at  him  from  behind  her  protecting  veil  as  she  had 
never  been  able  to  do  before. 

But  they  were  recalled  to  the  bees;  for  Ledyer  had 
mounted  the  ladder,  and  he  had  the  skep  handed  to  him. 
Standing  upon  a  middle  rung,  he  cautiously  approached 
the  skep  to  the  bees,  observing  them  with  an  experienced 
keenness.  It  seemed  to  Nigel  that  some  of  the  bees  began 
immediately  to  crawl  into  the  skep,  and  he  said  so. 

'  They'll  follow  the  queen.    Where  she  goes  they  go." 

"  How  human,"  said  Nigel,  impulsively.  Marian 
shook  her  head. 

"  How  universal,"  she  corrected.  And  then  laughed 
from  sheer  irresistible  mischievousness.  Nigel  was 
abashed,  at  her  laughter,  and  at  the  sense  of  his  own 
sentimentalitv. 


Ledyer  steadied  himself,  holding  the  skep  in  his  right 
hand,  and  the  brush  ready  in  his  left.  He  was  perfectly 
expert,  and  therefore  slow  and  confident  in  every  motion. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  no  fear  of  the  bees,  although  he 
had  been  often  stung  and  knew  the  degree  of  pain  to 
which  any  false  movement  might  lead. 

Both  Marian  and  Nigel  moved  forward. 

'  Keep  back,"  she  warned.  It  was  interest,  and  not 
bravado,  that  prompted  him  to  press  forward.  "  There's 
real  danger  of  a  sting  if  you  come  so  near."  He  did  not 
seem  to  hear  her.  Ledyer  used  the  brush,  very  tenderly, 
holding  the  skep  all  the  while.  A  mass  of  bees  was  de- 
tached. Individuals  rose  and  floated,  humming  hotly. 
He  again  used  the  brush.  The  bees,  disturbed,  darted  in 
the  air ;  but  most  of  their  number  were  in  the  skep,  clus- 
tering to  its  sides,  re-forming  like  a  rugby  pack  in  a 


150  SEPTEMBER 

scrum.  Only  a  few,  dishevelled,  roamed  above  the  heads 
of  the  humans  who  molested  them.  On  tiptoe,  Marian 
watched  breathlessly.  Nigel  was  so  close  beside  her  that 
their  arms  touched. 

"  I  think  it's  all  right,"  Ledyer  said,  in  a  minute.  He 
began  to  descend  the  ladder,  and  the  skep  was  placed  upon 
the  cloth  which  had  been  laid  for  it.  "  They'll  go  in 
there."  He  stood  perfectly  still,  while  bees  surrounded 
him,  without  threatening  to  attack.  Both  Ledyer  and 
Marian  were  delighted.  They  were  keenly  watching  the 
result  of  the  operation.  Only  Nigel  moved.  There  was 
a  sudden  hum.  A  bee  which  had  been  knocked  down  in 
the  melee  rose  suddenly,  rose  higher,  and  buzzed  in  his 
ear.    Nigel  ran. 

"  Hey,  hey!  "  he  cried,  laughing.  Then  his  hand  went 
quickly  to  his  cheek.  "  I'm  stung!  "  he  exclaimed.  "I'm 
stung!    Golly,  what  a  sting!  " 

vi 

His  face  was  for  an  instant  drawn  with  pain,  for  the 
sting  was  in  his  cheek.  Marian,  full  of  self-reproach,  left 
Ledyer,  and  moved  quickly  to  him. 

"  Hurry  to  the  house !  "  she  urged,  and  began  to  run. 

Together  they  reached  the  house.  In  two  moments 
Marian  was  again  by  his  side.  The  pungent  smell  of 
ammonia  made  them  both  cough.  She  applied  the  am- 
monia to  his  swelling  cheek,  heartsick  at  the  pain  she 
knew  he  must  be  feeling. 

"  I'm  so  sorry.    I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no.  It's  my  own  fault.  It's  the  fortune  of 
war!" 

Nigel  was  sitting  down.  Her  hands  touched  his  cheek. 
His  arm,  as  his  hands  rested  upon  his  knees,  was  against 
her  waist.  She  was  conscious  of  everything,  of  his  pain, 
his  nearness,  her  own  sudden  palsied  clumsiness,  the  de- 


THE  SWARM  151 

sire  she  had  to  press  his  head  to  her  breast.  It  brought 
the  blood  warmly  to  her  face  to  realise  this  instinct.  She 
was  in  sudden  discomfort.  Her  eyes  were  half-closed, 
so  sweet  was  the  emotion  that  made  her  heart  beat  and 
her  breath  come  in  small  tremulous  gusts.  Quickly  she 
devised  a  small  wad,  and  a  bandage ;  and  then  laughed  as 
she  fastened  the  array  with  a  safety  pin. 

"  There !  "  cried  Marian.  She  stepped  back  to  regard 
him,  and  did  not  know  how  fixed  and  painful  and  in- 
scrutable her  smile  was.  She  only  knew  that  her  heart 
was  throbbing  in  her  throat.  Nigel  looked  back  at  her, 
smiling  also.  She  gently  patted  the  bandage,  removing  a 
slight  crease;  and  with  a  perfectly  natural  gesture  he 
caught  her  hand  and  softly  kissed  it. 

Marian's  eyes  were  closed.  She  withdrew  her  hand, 
and  moved  slightly  away  from  him. 


CHAPTER  V:  THE  VISIT 


ON  Thursday  morning  Howard  left  for  London,  as 
he  had  arranged  to  do.  Last  thing  on  Wednesday 
he  had  stopped  in  taking  his  candle,  and  had  looked 
awkwardly  at  Marian. 

"  I  shall  be  going  up  in  the  morning,"  he  said. 

"  And  back  on  Friday  night  ?  " 

"Yes.  You're  going  over  .  .  .  there?"  He  jerked 
his  head. 

"  To  the  Sinclairs.    Yes.    To-morrow  afternoon." 

Howard  had  hesitated.  Then  he  had  handed  her  the 
candle,  taken  another  for  himself,  and  waited  for  Marian 
to  precede  him.  The  stairs  had  been  passed  before  he 
spoke  again. 

"  You're  coming  back  at  night,"  he  said. 

Marian  was  puzzled  at  his  tone.  Although  gruff,  it 
was  almost  humble.  In  the  semi-darkness  she  raised  her 
brows. 

"  Why,  of  course.  It's  all  arranged.  Mr.  Sinclair  is 
going  to  drive  me  home  in  his  car.  I  shall  be  home  by 
eleven." 

"The  young  fellow?  Take  care  of  yourself.  It'll  be 
a  dark  night." 

"  There'll  be  a  little  moon,  I  think.  But  he's  a  care- 
ful driver  ..."  Marian  was  bewildered.  The  ends 
of  her  sentences  were  all  in  a  higher  note  than  the  be- 
ginnings, because  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  him. 

"  Good  night,"  Howard  said,  abruptly. 

When  she  reached  her  bedroom,  Marian  noticed  that 

152 


THE  VISIT  153 

the  flame  of  her  candle  flickered.    She  looked  from  the 
flame  to  her  hand. 

"  Why.     I'm  shivering,"  she  thought.     "  How  odd !  " 

ii 

In  the  morning,  after  her  lonely  breakfast,  she  remem- 
bered suddenly  that  she  was  going  to  the  Sinclairs'  in 
the  afternoon.  There  was  present  in  her  mind  a  barely 
perceptible  repugnance  to  the  idea.  And  yet,  until  then, 
she  had  been  so  eager  to  go.  It  was  very  strange.  She 
didn't  seem  to  want  to  do  anything  at  all.  A  faint 
unhappiness  clouded  her  spirit,  so  that  she  hardly  recog- 
nised herself,  usually  so  free  from  vacillation. 

"How  odd!  How  odd!"  she  repeated.  "Why 
shouldn't  I  want  to  go  ?  Oh,  I  expect  it's  because  I  don't 
want  to  discuss  Cherry  with  Mrs.  Sinclair  .  .  .  Silly 
of  me!  I  wonder  if  it  is  that.  I'm  getting  mawkish!" 
She  was  quite  extraordinarily  perturbed.  The  whole 
state  of  her  mind  was  unusual,  and  inexplicable.  Marian 
shrugged  at  such  a  problem.  Then,  suddenly,  there 
tumbled  plump  out  of  her  mind  the  very  knowledge  that 
some  unknown  part  of  her  had  been  trying  to  conceal 
from  herself :  "  I  do  wish  I  hadn't  to  go  there.  I  wish 
Nigel  were  coming  here.  We  could  be  so  happy  here, 
alone!" 

Nigel!  She  had  not  realised  that  she  thought  of  him 
as  Nigel.  "  I  wonder  if  his  sting  is  better,"  she  thought, 
playing  with  her  own  perceptions,  trying  to  cajole  them 
by  the  introduction  of  a  false  subject  for  their  exercise. 
"Poor  boy!  But  he's  a  nice  boy  ..."  Then,  uncon- 
trollably, thrusting  aside  her  own  artifice :  "  We  could  be 
so  happy  here,  alone.  Nigel  and  I,  in  the  garden.  He 
talking,  I  listening.  I  oracular,  he  deceived  ...  I 
wish  he  were  coming  here.  I  don't  feel  I  want  to  go  to 
see  the  Sinclairs.     Mrs.  Sinclair's   ...      I  don't  like 


154  SEPTEMBER 

what  she  said  about  Cherry   ...     I  don't  like   .    .    . 
her  sharp,  dreadful  eyes   ..." 

iii 

Later  in  the  morning  Marian's  feeling  completely 
changed.  As  the  hours  passed  she  began  to  feel  expec- 
tant, full  of  happiness.  She  was  entirely  calm,  entirely 
mistress  of  herself  and  of  her  thoughts.  They  were  as 
much  under  control  as  were  her  tongue  and  her  lips,  as 
much  as  her  body.  She  lunched  at  ease,  and  drank  wine 
with  the  meal,  so  that  she  enjoyed  it  and  increased  her 
cheerfulness  by  means  that  were  supremely  natural. 
Only  after  lunch  did  she  notice  that  there  were  threats 
that  the  weather  might  break.  Clouds  gathered  in  the 
hitherto  placid  sky,  and  foamed  slowly  across  the  blue, 
broken  still  by  the  sun,  but  remorsely  encroaching.  Her 
spirits  fell  sharply,  so  contrary  was  this  change  of  aspect 
from  her  imaginings  of  what  the  day  would  be.  It  would 
not  matter — Nigel  would  come  for  her,  whatever  the 
weather.  But  Marian  was  struck  by  a  chill  when  she  saw 
the  clouds,  and  she  found  it  hard  to  climb  back  into  her 
ordinary  acceptance  of  the  barometer.  This  was  for  her 
no  ordinary  day.  It  was  a  day  .  .  .  She  was  child- 
ishly disappointed. 

"  How  silly !  "  she  murmured. 

That  mood  also  passed.  She  imagined  the  Sinclairs — 
Tom  Sinclair  with  his  sly,  cheerful,  moroseness;  Mrs. 
Sinclair  with  her  garrulity  and  her  penetrating  eye; 
Nigel,  his  face  swollen,  and  his  hair  ruffled  by  contact 
with  her  sleeve  .  .  .  His  eyes  near  her  own,  his  lips 
upon  her  hand. 

Blushing,  Marian  drew  herself  upright. 

"  What  an  idiot !  "  she  thought.  "  Here,  this  won't  do ! 
What  time  is  it?  "  She  looked  at  her  watch.  She  had 
half  an  hour,  at  least;  and  she  was  ready.    The  garden 


THE  VISIT  155 

would  be  too  cool  with  all  these  clouds  about,  so  she 
would  stay  in  the  drawing-room.  She  would  play.  No : 
if  she  played  she  would  not  hear  the  first  sound  of  the  car. 
She  wanted  to  do  that.  The  reason  she  wanted  to  do 
that  was  that  in  the  interval  before  it  arrived  she  had  to 
slip  up  to  her  room  for  a  thick  overcoat  and  a  small, 
close-fitting  hat.  That  was  the  only  reason.  The  only 
reason. 

How  happy  she  felt.  Not  only  happy,  but  beautifully 
alive.  Her  brain  was  clear,  and  her  mind  seemed  to  move 
with  exemplary  freedom.  She  herself  moved  with  a 
greater  freedom  than  usual.  She  crossed  the  room,  in 
thinking  that,  and  stood  looking  out  upon  the  lawn, 
where  the  great  wagtails  ran  about,  as  usual,  like  pretty 
mice.  A  big  patch  of  sunlight  turned  the  lawn  to  a 
brilliant  hue.  Marian  stood  watching  the  birds,  lost  in 
a  little  dream  of  nothing.  She  was  so  tall  and  so  slender 
that  one  would  not  have  been  able  to  perceive  her  age, 
but  would  have  supposed  her  at  the  dawning  of  woman- 
hood. Only  the  set  of  her  lips  showed  her  to  be  mature, 
and  her  grave  eyes. 

Hark!  Marian  quickly  opened  the  french  window, 
straining  her  ears  to  catch  the  expected  sound.  She 
stood,  poised,  for  a  moment,  intently  listening.  Then  she 
turned,  and  ran  to  her  room,  laughing;  and  seized  the 
overcoat  which  had  been  laid  out  for  her,  and,  with 
fingers  that  trembled,  put  on  the  little  hat.  The  hat  had  a 
veil,  which  she  would  lower  for  the  journey.  Gloves 
.    .    .   the  collar  of  her  coat;  the  great  buttons   .    .    . 

"  How  excited  I  am !  "  Marian  suddenly  rebuked 
herself.  "  It's  so  stupid  of  me !  "  Some  overriding  sense 
of  happiness  checked  the  rebuke,  and  carried  her,  laugh- 
ing breathlessly,  down  the  stairs  and  again  into  the 
drawing-room. 

"  I  hope  nobody  saw  me!  "  she  thought,  demurely. 


156  SEPTEMBER 

iv 

Three  minutes  later,  while  she  waited  so  expectantly, 
the  car  was  drawn  up  at  the  front  door.  She  stood  there 
upon  the  step  to  greet  Nigel,  her  first  quick,  motherly 
inquiry  directed  to  his  still  slightly  swollen  cheek. 

"  You're  ready !  How  splendid !  "  cried  Nigel,  and 
was  beside  her. 

"  Is  your  face  better?  "  she  asked  him,  as  their  hands 
met.  He  presented  it  for  her  inspection.  Smiling  in 
silence  they  joined  in  an  agreeing  nod.  "  It's  much 
better.    Is  the  pain  gone  ?  " 

"  Almost  quite  gone.  Shall  we  start  at  once  ?  I  didn't 
stop  the  engine.    It's  fluttering  like   .    .    .   like  a  heart." 

"  Horrible !  "  laughed  Marian,  her  eyes  averted.  She 
pulled  on  her  gloves.  "  It's  not  a  bit  like  any  heart  I've 
ever  come  across." 

Nigel  laughed  also,  faintly  chagrined  at  the  failure  of 
his  attempted  analogy. 

"  You  read  hearts,"  he  objected.  "  You  don't  listen 
to  them." 

"  Look  at  the  poor  thing  .  .  .  trembling  with  emo- 
tion !  "  teased  Marian.  "  You  don't  want  to  rest  ?  "  He 
shook  his  head.    "  Then  get  in  first." 

She  followed  him.  He  pulled  the  rug  across  her  knees, 
and  she  tucked  it  behind  her.  The  whole  car  was  shak- 
ing with  the  pulse  of  the  restrained  engine.  It  seemed 
to  be  convulsively  shuddering.  A  moment  later  the 
trembling  ceased.  There  was  a  grating  sound,  a  tiny 
groan;  and  the  car  began  to  move.  The  leaves  of  the 
bushes  became  suddenly  immense  as  they  brushed  the  side 
of  the  car.  Then  the  bushes  were  past,  and  the  gate- 
posts loomed  up.  The  brown  road  showed — all  its  ruts 
accentuated  in  this  new  association.  The  engine  began 
comfortably  to  hum.     The  road  fled  from  beneath  her 


THE  VISIT  157 

feet,  from  brown  to  grey.  The  hedges  flew  past.  Trees 
rose  up  and  towered  perilously  above  them.  Everything 
was  in  swift  motion,  speeding  endlessly  like  a  kinema 
film.  Fields  spread  upon  either  hand.  The  road  in  front 
narrowed  into  a  point  towards  which  they  rapidly  moved. 
The  little  car  sped  out  into  the  unknown  grey  and  green, 
adventurous,  full  of  marvel.  Below  her  eyes  the  road 
was  turned  to  impalpable  movement,  grey  and  soft,  beau- 
tifully romantic  and  distant,  but  close  against  her  vision, 
like  water  in  swift  current  seen  from  an  open  boat. 
Marian  glanced  aside  at  Nigel,  whose  unstung  cheek  was 
next  hers.  She  lowered  her  veil,  inexpressibly  happy. 
Everything  was  past — all  her  tremors  and  her  difficult 
thoughts :  she  now  thought  only  of  the  moment,  like  a 
young  girl  absorbed  in  the  thrilling  adventure  of  life. 
Her  years  were  gone.  Her  heart  was  silent,  and  her 
glowing  eyes  hidden  safe  in  mystery.  Nigel  had  come; 
they  were  alone  together;  their  journey  was  begun.  She 
had  never  realised  how  much  emotion  could  lie  in  a  short 
journey  which  she  had  taken  many  times  before,  or  in 
the  mere  act  of  speeding  along  roads  with  which  for  so 
many  years  she  had  been  familiar. 

"  How  lovely!  How  lovely!"  Marian  was  thinking; 
and  far  down  in  her  gentle  heart  she  was  conscious  of 
unrestrained  joy. 


They  had  little  speech  on  the  way,  for  both  were  con- 
tent. And  each  instant  the  home  of  the  Sinclairs  came 
nearer,  and  the  ordeal  of  Mrs.  Sinclair's  scrutiny. 
Marian  felt  steeled  against  the  world.  She  for  this 
moment  feared  nothing. 

And  then  they  were  there,  and  out  of  the  car,  and  in 
the  house.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  as  garrulous  as  ever,  taking 
Marian  to  her  room  to  remove  her  out-of-door  clothes, 


158  SEPTEMBER 

and  talking  as  though  her  tongue  could  never  be  still. 
She  was  full  of  pleasant  delight  in  this  visit. 

"  I've  been  looking  forward  to  it,"  she  gossiped. 
"  And  so  have  the  children.  I  mean,  Tom  and  Nigel. 
They're  perfect  children,  of  course.  My  dear,  men  never 
grow  up.  That's  a  thing  I've  learnt.  We  pretend  some- 
times that  we  don't.  It's  a  well-known  fact  that  women 
enjoy  things  more  than  men — more  simply.  But  when 
they're  not  outrageous  animals,  men  are  just  like  children, 
waiting  with  their  great  beaks  open. 

"Children?"  interrupted  Marian.  "I  thought  that 
was  baby  robins !  "  She  felt  ridiculously  light-witted. 
But  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  not  to  be  caught  by  chaff. 

"  All  the  same,"  she  maintained.  "  Baby  robins  and 
baby  men.  They've  been  behaving  as  if  you'd  never  been 
here  before  in  your  life.  You  have  been  here,  haven't 
you?" 

"  Some  of  me  has,"  cryptically  admitted  Marian,  pat- 
ting her  hair.  "  The  me  that  lived  last  month.  And  of 
course  other  months.  If  we're  as  old  as  you  say,  we 
must  change !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  like  that!  "  cried  the  bewildered  Mrs. 
Sinclair.  As  if  characters  were  underclothing!  I  can't 
stand  all  this  modern  quibbling.  It's  awful.  One  never 
knows  where  one  is.  People  say  they're  so  many  people. 
When  I  was  young  they  were  content  to  be  themselves. 
It's  all  nerves,  you  know.  They're  so  easily  bored  with 
themselves  that  they  cultivate  the  notion  that  they're 
chameleons.  It  makes  them  more  interesting,  they  think. 
And  it  saves  them  from  the  sense  of  responsibility.  Now 
Nigel   ..." 

'  Nigel ! ':     Unconsciously  Marian  repeated  the  name. 

"  Nigel  says,  when  I  tell  him  he's  inconsistent — Nigel 
says,  '  Ah,  but  that  was  yesterday.  I  was  different  then.' 
It's  absurd.    You  never  know  where  you  are.    You  have 


THE  VISIT  159 

to  say :  '  Who  are  you  to-day  ?  '  It  needs  too  much 
patience  altogether.  I  like  the  good  old  plain  consistent 
character  .  .  .  like  my  own.  I  should  have  said  you 
were  consistent  .  .  .  Not  now — only  until  the  other 
day.    You've  got  a  temper,  you  know." 

"  I  know,"  ruefully  admitted  Marian. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  emphasised  her  friend.  "  You  can't  bear 
contradiction.  You  think  you  know  everything.  You 
don't." 

"I'm  glad  I  don't!" 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid.  You  never  will  know  every- 
thing.   That's  left  to  people  like  me." 

"  Oh,  not  that  everything !  "  cried  Marian,  with  mis- 
chief. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  just  know  it.  It's 
a  gift." 

"  No,  no.  It's  not  a  gift.  It's  a  vanity.  It's  an  un- 
pardonable vanity.  It's  like  claiming  to  be  a  sort  of 
God." 

"  My  dear,  I'm  a  religious  woman.  I  know  what  I 
know.    I  see  what  I  see." 

Marian  did  not  allow  her  face  wholly  to  be  seen,  lest 
seeing  should  breed  knowledge  in  Mrs.  Sinclair's  super- 
ficially active  mind.     Instead,  she  laughed  mockingly. 

"  I  think  we  all  live  in  a  world  of  our  own  making," 
she  ventured.  "  I'm  sure  you  do  that  as  much  as  anybody 
else.     If  it's  a  nice  world,  I  don't  see  any  harm  in  it." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  gave  a  responsive  and  contemptuous 
grunt. 

"The  world's  all  right,"  she  remarked.  "It's  the 
people  in  it.  They're  fools.  Even  Tom's  a  fool.  As 
for  Nigel  .  .  .  he's  hopeless.  And  you're  as  bad.  He 
sneaks  out,  and  comes  back  with  a  face  like  a  pumpkin — 
all  because  you  let  him  poke  his  nose  into  a  hornet's  nest." 

"  No.    A  swarm  of  bees." 


160  SEPTEMBER 

"  The  sting's  the  same.  You  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  that." 

"  I  offered  him  a  veil.  I  begged  him  to  stand  at  a 
distance.  I  really  couldn't  do  more.  I  -.•  .  .  I  haven't 
any  control  over  him." 

"Hn!"  grunted  Mrs.  Sinclair.  "It's  my  belief  that 
you  can  do  anything  you  like  with  Nigel.  You're  a 
dangerous  woman,  Marian." 

Marian  faced  her,  uncontrollably  laughing  at  such 
mock-jealousy.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  too  engrossed  in  her 
grievance  to  observe  the  fear  that  lay  behind  such  merri- 
ment. 

vi 

They  talked  a  little  further  before  they  went  down- 
stairs again.  Mrs.  Sinclair  drew  Marian's  attention  to  a 
hideous  new  cushion  which  she  had  made,  and  had  all 
the  news  of  Howard's  movements,  and  virtuously  re- 
frained from  any  comment  upon  Cherry.  Marian  was 
thankful  for  that.  In  her  present  mood  she  could  not 
have  borne  to  argue  about  her  young  friend.  Her  heart 
was  too  full.  She  needed  all  her  self-control  for  present 
events.  So  they  stayed  for  a  little  while,  chatting  ami- 
cably, and  at  last  descended  the  stairs. 

The  Sinclairs'  house  was  an  old-fashioned,  roomy 
mansion,  far  too  large  for  Tom  and  his  wife,  shabby 
and  distressing  in  many  ways.  The  pictures  were  copies 
in  heavy  gilt  frames,  with  a  few  dilapidated  portraits 
and  some  popular  Academy  favourites  jostling  the  rest 
in  a  tedious  incongruity.  The  walls  were  all  very  dark, 
with  old  embossed  papers  from  which  faded  gilt  orna- 
mentation stood  out  in  relief.  The  house  was  all  lighted 
by  ordinary  gas,  and  the  chandeliers  were  ornate  and 
revolting  in  their  tastelessness.  The  mantelpieces  were 
great  marble  erections,  without  beauty ;  the  carpets  were 


THE  VISIT  161 

in  green  and  dun  colour.  It  was  what  used  to  be  called 
a  "  comfortable  "  house,  just  as  its  owners  were  what 
would  be  called  "  comfortable  "  people.  Marian  was  as 
much  out  of  place  in  it  as  Cherry  would  have  been;  for 
she  was  modern  in  most  of  her  ways  and  most  of  her 
ideas.  On  the  way  down  she  turned  and  looked  up  at 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  so  strikingly  embodied  all  the  traits 
suitable  to  the  mistress  of  such  a  house.  And  yet  Mrs. 
Sinclair  was  a  woman  both  good  and  wise,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  know  her  without  loving  her. 

"  I'm  glad  to  be  here,"  Marian  said,  quickly. 

"  No  gladder  than  we  are  to  have  you  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  with  equal  quickness. 

They  halted  in  the  large  hall.  From  the  drawing- 
room  came  a  sound  that  sent  a  rapid  quiver  through 
Marian's  body  and  made  her  lips  tremble.  Nigel  was 
playing  the  Chopin  Ballade  which  she  loved  so  much.  By 
instinct,  she  turned  her  face  from  Mrs.  Sinclair,  in  case 
her  slight  confusion  should  be  noticed.  Then  she  went 
forward  and  entered  the  room,  Mrs.  Sinclair  closely 
following. 


CHAPTER  VI:  THE  DRIVE  HOME 


THE  afternoon  and  evening  were  for  Marian  full  of 
curious  heats  and  chills.  She  had  never  felt  so 
strangely  uncertain  of  herself,  so  false  in  her  response 
to  the  feelings  of  those  about  her.  Of  the  three  Sinclairs 
the  only  one  to  whom  she  found  it  possible  to  talk  sin- 
cerely was  Tom.  His  invincible  ignorance  was  a  relief. 
Not  his  to  question  her  moods:  he  rolled  out  his  dry 
complaints  of  the  world  with  a  cheerful  disregard  of 
every  other  topic.  His  gardeners,  the  boys  who  cleaned 
the  cars,  the  general  imbecility  of  mankind — all  came 
under  the  lash  of  his  slow  and  destructive  tongue,  which 
was  rarely  silent  except  while  he  was  masticating. 
Marian  loved  him.  He  was  simplicity  itself,  the  exem- 
plification of  all  that  was  kindly  stupid  in  man.  Mrs. 
Sinclair  she  could  not  deal  with  at  all.  That  lady  might 
see  everything;  she  might  see  more  than  there  was  to 
see;  but  infallibly  she  would  see  beyond  any  manoeuvre. 
And  Nigel  was  impossible.  Constraint  heightened  her 
spirits  at  one  moment,  and  made  her  startlingly  gay;  and 
at  another  it  seemed  to  introduce  whalebone  into  her 
bearing,  so  incurably  that  she  knew  herself  to  be  both 
gauche  and  chilling.  And  in  those  painful  periods 
Marian  felt  her  blood  cool  with  a  sense  of  failure.  She 
sought  in  vain  for  the  arts  of  self-control  which  might 
deceive  the  world;  and  succeeded  only  in  attaining  the 
distresses  of  imperfect  sympathy  which  puzzled  the  young 
man  and  diminished  his  essential  self-confidence.  If  that 
had  been  all,  the  visit  to  the  Sinclairs  would  have  been 

163 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  163 

an  absolute  failure.  Fortunately  it  was  not  all.  Marian's 
spirits,  sinking  under  their  weight  of  secret  comprehen- 
sion, rose  again  like  a  lark  by  sheer  reaction  from  misery. 
At  such  times  she  had  such  rapture  that  it  made  her  heart 
ache.  Her  eyes  were  mysterious  and  haunted.  She 
looked  and  smiled  with  a  new  and  incomprehensible 
tenderness.  The  world  was  changed  for  her  from  a 
spectacle  of  being  in  travail  to  a  garden  of  singing  birds, 
lost  in  dreams ;  because  her  own  nature  was  drowned  in  a 
bewildering  dream. 

There  was  talk,  of  course,  in  which  she  heard  her 
voice,  as  the  voices  of  the  others,  coming  from  strange 
distances  and  expressing  strange  thoughts.  It  had  no 
identity  with  herself,  but  was  a  spurious  broken  echo  of 
some  unknown  Marian,  capable  of  living  without  vitality 
and  without  interest  in  real  things.  It  was  the  voice  of 
one  in  a  dream,  as  she  was ;  but  it  was  her  protection,  for 
it  saved  her  from  conspicuous  silence.  If  it  was  some- 
times flat,  and  sometimes  incongruously  moved,  it  still 
saved  her  from  their  too-curious  notice.  When  she  lis- 
tened to  Nigel  alone  she  was  herself,  waiting  patiently  for 
the  words  he  used,  but  not  for  their  meaning.  His  words 
had  no  meaning.  They  went  on  and  on,  the  expression 
of  character  that  lies  behind  words  and  conduct,  the  char- 
acter which  she  was  so  engrossingly  engaged  in  imagin- 
ing. Into  the  reservoir  of  her  heart  the  voice  of  Nigel 
poured  its  confession  of  his  soul.  Marian  listened,  all 
the  time  checking  herself  so  that  she  for  ever  kept  her 
place  in  the  group,  without  betraying  all  the  tumult  which 
her  self-control  fought  desperately  to  conceal.  To  them 
all,  she  remained  the  charming  Marian  Forster  that  they 
knew.    Only  to  herself  had  she  become  an  enigma. 


164  SEPTEMBER 


11 


Even  Marian  became  convinced  of  her  success  when 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  with  the  voice  of  perfect  good-temper 
which  accompanied  her  most  penetrating  judgments, 
announced : 

"  The  trouble  about  you,  Marian,  is  that  you  see  good 
in  everything.  You're  too  sympathetic.  You  go  on  the 
motto — I  know  I  can't  pronounce  it  in  French  .  .  . 
that  if  you  understand  everything  you  pardon  everything. 
Well,  you  pardon  a  great  deal  too  much,  if  you'll  excuse 
me  for  saying  so." 

"  I  wish  I  did,"  said  Marian,  shaking  her  head. 

"  People  take  advantage  of  you." 
'  No.    I'm  quite  sure  they  don't."    In  this  Marian  was 
indomitably  firm.    Mrs.  Sinclair  was  checked.    Her  own 
remark  had  been  serious  under  raillery. 

"  You  don't  find  they  cheat  you  .  .   .  disappoint  you?  " 

"  No.  When  they  disappoint  me  it's  because — it's  not 
often — I've  formed  a  wrong  expectation.  It's  not  a  false- 
ness of  theirs.  And  as  for  cheating  me — they'd  be 
ashamed  to  cheat  anybody  who  trusts  them." 

"  Oh,  my  dear!  " 

Nigel  had  been  listening  with  some  impatience. 

"  My  dear  aunt !  "  he  interposed.  "  You're  wrong  and 
Mrs.  Forster  is  right.  I'll  explain."  There  were  at  this 
determination  three  quite  friendly  groans.  Tom  Sinclair 
fanned  himself  a  little  with  his  handkerchief.  "  It's  no 
good  your  groaning,"  proceeded  Nigel. 

"  We  know  that,"  said  his  aunt;  while  his  uncle  piously 
ejaculated  "God  forbid!" 

"  I'll  explain.  The  power  Mrs.  Forster  has  is  that 
people  want  to  keep  her  liking  and  respect.  They  know 
that  she  doesn't  give  liking  and  respect  for  nothing.  She 
doesn't  give  them  easily.     When  one's  got  them  . 


>> 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  165 

"  Conceited  jackanapes!  "  cried  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

"  One  knows  their  value.  Now  I  couldn't  tell  Mrs. 
Forster  a  lie." 

"I  hope  you  wouldn't  tell  anybody  one!"  said  his 
aunt. 

"What  did  your  father  pay  your  schooling  for?" 
demanded  his  uncle. 

Marian  sat  through  all  this,  flushing  and  paling  uncon- 
trollably, and  laughing  a  little.  She  made  one  entreating 
effort  to  check  the  scandal  of  public  interpretation;  but 
she  was  afraid  to  do  more. 

"  Aunt  Kathy.    I  might  tell  you  a  lie." 

"  Oh !  "    Mrs.  Sinclair  was  scandalised. 

"  I  might  tell  you  a  lie  for  your  own  good ;  or  because 
I  didn't  want  you  to  know  a  particular  thing  at  a  par- 
ticular time.  To  Mrs.  Forster  I  never  could  tell  a  lie. 
I  should  feel  that  she'd  know  it  was  a  lie.  And  I 
couldn't  risk  the  loss  of  her  respect." 

Marian,  unobserved,  shook  her  head.  He  didn't  know 
what  he  was  talking  about,  this  ardent  boy  who  believed 
in  her  insight  and  her  honesty.  Mrs.  Sinclair's  comment 
was  a  gruff  one  that  sent  the  blood  startlingly  back  to 
Marian's  heart.    It  was  like  a  thunderclap. 

"  Well  that  shows  one  good  thing,  Marian.  It  shows 
he'll  never  try  to  make  love  to  you." 

iii 

If  her  pallor  could  have  betrayed  her,  Marian's  voice 
would  have  checked  the  betrayal.  It  was  perfectly  steady, 
perfectly  controlled  and  clear. 

"How  admirable!"  she  said.  "And  how  safe  it 
makes  me  feel." 

She  did  not  look  at  Nigel,  but,  smilingly,  at  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair, who  was  just  ordinarily  triumphant  at  a  mot,  and 
who  had  intended  no  more  than  a  piece  of  rough  common 


166  SEPTEMBER 

sense.     Mrs.  Sinclair,  pleased  with  herself,  pursued  this 
theme  for  a  moment. 

"  I  suppose  anybody  in  love  is  a  liar,"  she  said.  "  I 
know  I  was." 

They  all  laughed  at  her,  and  laughed  again  when  Tom 
Sinclair  added : 

"  You  were,  my  dear.    You  were." 

"  You  see,  everybody  thought  Tom  and  I  were  a  pair. 
He  thought  so.  And  I  couldn't  bear  his  being  so  sure  of 
it,  and  other  people  being  so  sure.  So  I  refused  him.  I 
refused  him  seven  times." 

"Six,  my  dear  ..."  There  were  calculations,  as 
the  result  of  which  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  upheld. 

"  That's  a  funny  thing  about  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
"  Though  we  oughtn't  to  speak  of  it  before  Nigel.  "  Not 
all  of  them,  but  some,  will  say  '  no '  over  and  over  again, 
until  the  last  time.     It's  like  a  horse  taking  a  ditch." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  a  good  rider  and  a  good  horse  go 
over  the  first  time  off." 

"  Not  if  the  horse  is  high-spirited,  uncle.  It's  a  test 
of  the  rider's  will,  then,"  Nigel  put  in,  swiftly.  His  uncle 
nodded. 

"  Quite  right,  my  boy." 

"After  all,  why  should  a  girl  say  'yes'?"  asked 
Marian.  "  It  means  so  much  to  her  whole  life.  I  expect 
if  she  realised  all  it  meant  she'd  say  'no'  twenty 
times." 

Tom  Sinclair  grumbled  out  a  reply  to  this  partisan 
inquiry. 

"If  the  men  knew,  she'd  never  be  asked  at  all.    What 

then?" 

"  I  don't  know.  For  most  people  I  suppose  it's  a 
hindrance  to  know  too  much.  They  cripple  their  natures. 
I'm  quite  sure  that  happens  a  great  deal  nowadays." 

"  It's  not '  knowing  '  at  all,  perhaps,"  said  Nigel ;  "  but 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  167 

just  what  you  were  saying  the  other  day — thinking  too 
much.     I'm  sure  you're  right,  Mrs.  Forster." 

For  the  first  time  Marian  turned  directly  towards  him. 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  felt  strong  enough  to  do  so. 
Their  eyes  met  frankly.  She  suddenly  felt  very  grave,  as 
though  his  sincerity  upon  this  point  were  unwelcome  to 
her.  Into  Marian's  ears  came  an  echo  of  Mrs.  Sinclair's 
speech.  "  It  shows  he'll  never  try  to  make  love  to  you." 
Was  that  true?  So  Nigel  was  now  a  mystery  to  her, 
simply  because  of  that  one  phrase. 

iv 

After  dinner  they  were  able  to  walk  in  the  garden,  the 
two  women  with  wraps  over  their  shoulders.  The  clouds 
were  heavy  in  the  sky;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  im- 
mediate rain.  Only  in  the  trees  might  be  heard  sinister 
shudderings,  calculated  to  warn  the  timid.  Rushes  of 
wind  disturbed  the  leaves.  There  was  a  continuous 
rustle,  like  the  sound  of  waves  close  at  hand.  The  night 
promised  to  be  tempestuous. 

Nigel  and  Marian  stepped  beyond  the  others,  and  were 
lost  to  sight  in  the  dusk.  They  strolled  about  the  large 
over-grown  garden  (so  different  in  its  disorder  from  the 
trim  array  of  the  Forster's  garden)  ;  and  Marian's  eyes 
were  dewy  with  the  emotion  which  she  had  been  conceal- 
ing all  the  evening.  They  talked  little.  There  was  so 
much  that  might  have  been  said  between  them,  and  so 
little  that  was  capable  of  being  said.  Everything  was  dis- 
jointed and  trivial.  All  went  on,  Marian  felt,  in  their 
hearts,  in  the  moving  tranquility  of  understanding  that 
both  enjoyed. 

'Your  bees,"  he  said,  at  last.     "They're  all  right? 
They  didn't  swarm  again  ?  " 

"  No.  They're  happily  hived.  Are  you  sure  your 
sting  is  better?  " 


168  SEPTEMBER 

"  Quite  sure.    You  were  so  prompt." 

"  I  was  so  sorry."  She  hoped  Nigel  would  not  notice 
her  voice. 

"  But  I  was  so  proud  of  it.  And  so  grateful  for  your 
care.  You  don't  know  what  it  meant  to  me.  You  couldn't 
know  how  much." 

Was  he,  too,  moved  ?  Marian  would  have  given  every- 
thing to  know.  She  had  thought  and  felt  so  much  her- 
self that  she  no  longer  had  the  power  to  read  his  attitude. 
It  might  mean  nothing  at  all.  Nothing.  And  in  that 
case  .  .  .  What  was  it  she  wanted?  To  what  abyss 
were  her  thoughts  so  inevitably  bringing  her?  Marian 
shut  her  mind  to  consequences.  She  was  afraid  of  them. 
She,  who  so  far-seeingly  appreciated  all  the  elements  of 
the  life  around  her,  was  so  afraid  to  know  herself  that 
she  deliberately  ignored  everything  but  the  moment. 

"  I  couldn't  expect  you  to  repeat  the  experiment.  I 
expect  bees  from  the  other  hives  will  presently  be  swarm- 
ing. It's  an  extraordinary  cycle — going  on  endlessly 
from  week  to  week  during  this  brilliant  weather." 

"  How  enthusiastic  you  are!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  said,  almost  humble  in  her  pride  at  his 
admiration.  "  I'm  not  very  enthusiastic  by  nature.  I'm 
too  old  for  enthusiasm." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  protested  Nigel.  "  It's  so  curious 
to  hear  you  say  that.    When  I  feel  you're  so  wonderful !  " 

"  I  wish  I  were  wonderful.  I  feel !  .  .  . "  She  was 
speaking  with  difficulty,  driven  to  candour  by  some  im- 
perious need.  "  I  feel  so  colourless,  so  horribly  dissatis- 
fied with  myself  and  my  way  of  living.  Just  lately  I've 
felt  so  lazy,  as  though  I  needed  to  work  more  and  make 
something  altogether  different  of  my  day's  work." 

"  Isn't  that  only  a  mood  ?    A  summer  mood  ?  " 

"  Is  it  ?  I  wish  it  might  be.  A  late  summer 
mood  .  .  ," 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  169 

Wearily,  her  voice  had  sunk.  She  was  not  at  peace, 
but  was  chilled  with  momentary  depression.  She  saw 
herself  as  a  woman  enduring  pain  without  end  and  with- 
out reward.  It  was  not  self-pity.  It  was  a  kind  of  hope- 
lessness against  which  her  pride  steadfastly  rebelled. 

Nigel  made  no  reply.    He  too  was  deep  in  thought. 


At  last  the  darkness  had  fallen,  and  a  moisture  from 
the  clouds;  but  as  yet  no  rain.  The  trees  were  still  dis- 
traught, so  that  Marian  shivered.  They  went  back  into 
the  ugly  house  and  sat  dully  in  the  drawing-room  until 
it  was  time  for  Marian  to  go  home.  Then  the  Sinclairs 
grouped  about  the  car,  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  tucked  her  in, 
and  Tom  Sinclair  remembered  anecdotes  too  rusty  for 
perfect  recollection;  and  Marian  and  Nigel  were  once 
again  in  motion,  the  headlights  of  the  car  lighting  up  the 
road  with  a  deceptive  brilliance. 

Marian's  head  was  bowed.  Where  a  young  girl  would 
confidently  have  snuggled  close  to  Nigel,  secure  in  his 
protectiveness,  she  shrank  with  dread  from  the  least  con- 
tact with  his  arm.  It  was  because  she  was  too  well  aware 
of  every  implication.  She  would  have  given  much  to 
touch  him,  much  to  betray  with  abandon  the  wish  she  had 
for  his  arms,  his  lips.  And  she  could  do  nothing.  She 
was  trammelled.  She  was  trapped  by  her  age  and  her 
temperament.  And  Nigel  respected  her  too  much.  "  It 
shows  he'll  never  try  to  make  love  to  you."  Suffocatingly 
her  heart  rose  at  the  memory.  In  the  noise  of  the  motor 
her  sigh  was  unheard. 

"  How  ridiculous  I  am !  "  she  thought.  "  How  ridicu- 
lous !    How  contemptible !  " 

While  she  was  thinking  that,  Nigel  turned  suddenly 
lo  her. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Forster,"  he  said,  in  a  thick,  unfamiliar 


170  SEPTEMBER 

voice.  "  I've  been  wanting  ...  I  wonder  whether 
you'd  very  much  mind  calling  me  '  Nigel '  ?  It  always 
worries  me  when  you  say  .  .  .  anything  else.  Would 
you  mind?  " 

"Of  course  not!"  cried  Marian,  with  supreme  natu- 
ralness. "  How  silly  of  you,  Nigel!  " 

"Really?    How  splendid !  " 

"  And  you'll  call  me  Marian,  obviously   ..." 

She  saw  his  left  hand  leave  the  steering  wheel  and 
grope  back  towards  the  rug.  Her  own  hand  flew  out  to 
meet  it,  and  the  two  hands  met  in  a  quick  grip.  The  car 
swerved. 

"Damn  this  car!"  Nigel  muttered,  and  gave  a  short 
laugh  in  which  embarrassment  and  annoyance  were 
mingled.     "  It  won't  drive  itself." 

There  seemed  to  be  some  amazing  subtle  understand- 
ing between  them.  If  it  was  so,  it  was  past  in  an 
instant. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  should  be  so  difficult  to  ask  a 
thing  like  that,"  Nigel  went  on.  "  I  suppose  it's  the 
fear  of  being  refused.  I've  wanted  to  call  you 
Marian   ..." 

"  Was  it  as  hard  as  that !  "  Marian  said,  her  voice 
caressing.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  breath  slow  and 
painful,  as  at  a  disaster.    Her  heart  was  choking  her. 

Nigel  gave  a  little  low  happy  laugh. 

"  It's  funny,  isn't  it !     It  seems  so  simple,  now." 

Marian  could  not  answer.  She  could  only  have  made  a 
trite  remark.  Instead,  she  allowed  her  hand  to  remain 
outside  the  rug,  and  quietly  within  the  crook  of  his  arm. 
Two  minutes  later  they  were  at  home,  and  she  stood  in 
the  garden  while  he  turned  the  car.  It  was  so  dark  that 
they  could  hardly  see  each  other,  and  their  hands  knocked 
together  to  the  sound  of  a  small  murmur  of  laughter. 
Even  so.  the  hands  did  not  clasp,  but  each  held  the  other's 


THE  DRIVE  HOME  171 

arm  just  above  the  wrist,  in  a  contact  that  was  warmer 
still. 

"  You'll  come  soon,"  Marian  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Very  soon,"  he  said. 

"  To-morrow  ?  " 

"  May  I  ?  "  There  was  delight  in  his  voice.  "  I  will. 
How  nice  of  you  to  ask  me,   .    .    .   Marian." 

Their  clasp  relaxed.  He  raised  his  cap.  She  stood 
dumbly  waiting.  Then,  abruptly,  he  said  good  night  and 
was  once  again  in  his  seat. 

"  Good  night,  Nigel !  "  she  called.  And  to  herself, 
"  Good  night,  my  dear ;  and  God  bless  you  and  keep  you 
safe." 

Alone,  Marian  bit  her  lip.  A  chill  was  upon  her  heart 
— a  leaden  weight  of  bitter  disappointment.  Her  head 
ached.  Slowly  she  went  indoors,  and  removed  her  hat, 
and  aimlessly  stood  in  the  hall,  listening  through  the  open 
door  to  the  car's  distant  humming. 


CHAPTER  VII:  NERVES 


IT  was  long  before  Marian  slept.  The  day  had  been  too 
exciting  for  her  brain  to  forego  its  activity;  and  she 
lay  restlessly  far  into  the  night.  And  in  the  morning, 
when  she  awoke,  that  chill  weight  was  still  upon  her 
heart.  At  first  she  could  not  understand  the  dreadful 
melancholy  which  burdened  her  spirit.  Then,  as  memory 
returned,  and  a  sense  of  reality,  she  sat  up  in  bed,  staring 
wildly  before  her. 

"  How  unhappy  I  am!"  she  thought.  "  And  what 
have  I  been  doing?  Where  am  I  allowing  myself  to  be 
led?    I'm  horrible!    I'm  ashamed  and  lonely!  " 

She  slipped  down  again  into  the  bed,  her  eyes  closed 
once  more.  Her  mind  was  working  freely.  What  had 
she  said?  What  had  she  said  to  Nigel?  What  had  he 
understood?  Oh,  she  felt  she  couldn't  face  him !  If  she 
must  do  so,  if  he  showed  any  comprehension  of  her  dead 
mood,  she  must  lie.  Coldness  was  now  her  only  resource ; 
coldness  and  deliberate  distance.  How  absurd  to  be  in 
such  a  panic !  As  though  Nigel  could  ever  read  her  heart ! 
It  lay  concealed  for  ever,  hidden  deep  under  her  self- 
control.  If  he  had  misunderstood  her,  that  was  the 
ridiculous  error  of  a  mind  too  sanguine.  After  all,  she 
was  Marian  Forster.  Nothing  happened  to  her  that  she 
did  not  wish.  Being  mistress  of  herself,  she  was  mistress 
of  every  emergency.  There  was  no  question  of  that.  If 
she  could  believe  it ! 

Bitterly  Marian  laughed  to  herself.     She  looked  over 

172 


NERVES  173 

to  the  window,  and  saw  the  grey  morning,  and  heard 
the  wind  tearing  among  the  thick  leaves  of  all  those  high 
trees.  The  day  was  like  her  mood,  grey  and  stormy. 
There  would  be  rain,  and  then  the  storm  would  pass. 
It  was  always  so.  But  with  human  beings  the  storms 
attacked  the  root  and  fibre  of  all  emotion.  If  Nigel 
should  remain  bewildered  at  her  change.  If  agony  should 
show  in  him,  where  then  would  her  strength  be  ?  Would 
it  endure?  If  Marian  had  believed  in  an  immediate 
God  she  would  have  prayed  for  courage  and  the  power 
to  endure.  As  it  was,  she  had  to  rely  solely  upon  herself. 
She  did  not  cry,  because  she  never  cried :  always  the  pain 
sank  deeper  and  more  piercing,  like  poison  absorbed  into 
the  blood.  She  was  entirely  without  hope.  Her  eyes 
were  opened  to  the  sense  of  consequences.  She  no  longer 
dreamed.    The  time  for  dreaming  was  past. 

11 

All  the  morning  the  sky  remained  overcast.  Against 
the  dark  clouds  the  leaves  of  every  tree  became  more 
brilliantly  green;  but  the  rest  of  the  garden,  as  of  the 
house,  was  subdued  in  obedience  to  the  threatening 
weather.  With  a  sober  face  Marian  rearranged  flowers, 
wrote  letters,  had  consultations  with  cook  and  gardener — 
all  the  little  trivial  things  of  her  morning's  occupation. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  what  she  did.  It  was  done 
mechanically.  Her  thoughts  were  upon  one  subject  only, 
and  they  were  such  as  to  engross  all  her  attention. 

In  the  afternoon  Nigel  came.  It  was  remarkable  that, 
her  own  mind  having  covered  so  much  ground,  Marian 
would  hardly  have  been  surprised  if  Nigel  had  stayed 
away.  She  would  have  understood,  and  perhaps  might 
have  forgiven,  his  abstention.  She  had  reached  the  point 
of  wishing  not  to  see  him.  It  would  have  been  a  relief 
to  her  if  he  had  not  come.     But  as  no  two  beings  have 


174  SEPTEMBER 

ever  yet  succeeded  in  keeping  any  intimate  relation  sta- 
tionary, so  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Nigel's  thoughts 
— if  he  had  had  any  analogous  thoughts  at  all,  which 
Marian  could  not  guess — had  kept  pace  with  her  own. 
She  received  him  in  the  drawing-room,  where  he  waited 
because  she  was  busy  at  the  moment  of  his  arrival. 

Nigel  turned  round  as  she  closed  the  door,  and  took 
several  steps  towards  her.  His  face  was  alight,  and  the 
clasp  of  his  hand  warm  to  her  deliberate  limpness. 

"  Hullo !  "  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  Here  I  am,  you  see. 
I  hope  I  haven't  interrupted  you  at  some  frightfully  im- 
portant work." 

"  No,"  Marian  drily  replied.  "  Nothing  frightfully 
important.    Besides,  I  knew  you  were  coming." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nigel,  hesitating.  He  seemed  taken  aback. 
Then  :  "  Yes.    We  arranged  it,  didn't  we?  " 

Marian  looked  quickly  at  him.  Her  nerves  took  alarm. 
Was  he  already  inclined  to  encroach?  That  would  be 
intolerable.  What  did  he  mean?  She  was  altogether 
unscrupulous  in  her  readiness  to  disclaim  an  arrangement. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  a  very  nice  day  for  motoring,"  she 
said.  "  It's  oppressive.  I  thought  you  perhaps  wouldn't 
come." 

"  You'd  rather  I  hadn't  come?  "  he  asked,  sharply. 

"  No,  no.  I'm  very  pleased  to  see  you.    Of  course  ..." 

Oh,  Marian  had  the  situation  well  in  hand. 

"  You're  not  well,"  he  urged.  "  The  storm's  tried 
you." 

"  A  little,"  Marian  agreed.  "  But  I'm  perfectly  well. 
A  few  hours  doesn't  make  much  difference  to  me."  She 
saw  his  eyebrows  lift,  and  went  on.  "  We'll  have  tea 
early,  shall  we?  And  then  you  must  play  something. 
But  no  Chopin  this  afternoon." 

"  All  right.  But  why  not  ?  Mrs.  Forster,  you're  sure 
you're  not  displeased  with  me  ?  " 


NERVES  175 

"Mrs.  Forster?"  she  questioned,  breathlessly.  She 
could  not  command  her  heart. 

"  Marian." 

"  The  weather's  been  playing  tricks  with  you,  Nigel. 
Come  and  sit  down,  and  we'll  talk  about  .    .    .  about 

•       •        • 

"About  what?" 

"  The  weather,"  said  Marian,  demurely.  "  Isn't  that 
indicated? " 

•  •  • 

in 

She  could  feel  him  watching  her  with  intentness.  She 
did  not  dare  to  look  towards  him.  If  she  had  been  play- 
ing, what  sport  she  might  have  had  in  such  an  evasion! 
But  she  was  not  playing.  She  was  fighting  defensively. 
She  was  assailed,  not  by  any  desire  of  his,  but  by  his 
steady  gaze  and  the  searching  mind  that  was  at  work 
behind  it. 

"The  weather  will  go  away,"  Marian  went  on.  "  I 
hope  it  will  go  away,  at  least ;  and  the  brightness  will  be 
all  the  nicer  because  of  the  clouds." 

"  Will  it  go  away?"  asked  Nigel. 

"  It's  a  summer  storm."  Marian  pretended  not  to 
notice  the  other  question  that  lay  in  so  simple  an  inquiry. 
"  It's  not  autumnal." 

"  Autumn,"  said  Nigel.  He  seemed  to  be  completely 
at  a  loss. 

"  Don't  look  ahead.  Though  I'm  looking  forward  to 
September,  I  must  admit.  Howard  and  I  will  go  to 
town,  and  see  all  the  plays,  and  visit  all  the  people  we 
know  .  .  .  We  shall  have  a  bright  life  for  a  few 
weeks.  Then  we  shall  come  down  here  again — as  usual 
— a  little  while  before  Christmas." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Nigel  politely  assented.     "  Do  you  and 


176  SEPTEMBER 

your  husband  go  about  a  great  deal — together — when 
you're  in  town?  " 

"As  a  rule,  yes,"  said  Marian.  It  was  not  true;  it 
was  essential  that  he  should  believe  it. 

"  But  I  shall  see  you  then?  " 

She  gave  him  a  surprised  glance. 

"Of  course.  Isn't  that  arranged?"  She  saw  him 
start  at  the  repetition  of  that  word.  Start,  and  again 
subject  her  to  an  examination. 

"  I  hoped  so.  Marian,  I'm  afraid  you  must  think  me 
stupid.  I  expect  it  is  the  weather.  I  don't  feel  I  .  .  .  " 
He  checked  himself.  "  My  aunt  sent  you  messages.  I 
told  her  they  weren't  valid,  as  I  could  satisfy  her  about 
your  safe  arrival  home.  But  she  sent  them.  She  says 
she's  old  fashioned  enough  to  send  messages  and  to 
expect  replies." 

"What  were  the  messages?"  asked  Marian,  alert 
under  her  nonchalance. 

"  She  said,  '  Give  my  love  to  Marian,  and  tell  her  I 
hope  she  arrived  home  safely.  And  tell  her  that  she's 
too  clever  for  me  about  the  things  we  didn't  discuss.' 
I  think  that  was  all." 

Marian  laughed,  puzzled. 

"  What  did  she  mean?  "  She  was  genuinely  unable  to 
understand  so  cryptic  a  message. 

"  I  think  she  really  hoped  you'd  read  more  into  her 
message  than  was  there,"  said  Nigel,  with  a  return  of 
ease.    "  I  don't  think  she  meant  anything  at  all." 

Marian  thought  a  moment.  The  principal  topic  left 
untouched  was  the  topic  of  Cherry.  Well,  she  was  com- 
plimented; because  she  had  determined  to  keep  silent 
upon  that  matter.  And  the  direct  inquiry  about  the 
journey.    Was  it  teasing? 

"  I  think  you're  right,"  she  at  last  replied.  "  I  don't 
think   she   did."      But   she  wondered.     The  messages 


NERVES  177 

did   not   tend    to    increase   her   comfort   in   this   con- 
versation. 

iv 

They  continued  to  sit  in  the  drawing-room,  talking 
as  acquaintances  in  spite  of  Marian's  effort  to  recover 
cordiality,  until  tea  was  brought  in.  It  was  welcomed 
by  both.  Nigel  awoke  from  his  thoughtfulness,  as  at  a 
new  beginning ;  while  Marian  was  glad  to  have  something 
to  do  which  occupied  her  hands  and  her  attention.  To- 
gether they  munched  cakes  and  sipped  their  tea,  and  there 
was  a  return  of  the  ghost  of  jollity. 

"  Although  it's  an  insipid  meal,  tea  is  a  meal,"  re- 
marked Nigel.    "  It's  real." 

"  I  prefer  it  to  any  other  meal  in  the  day,"  said  Marian, 
stoutly. 

"  It's  a  woman's  meal,"  he  declared.  "  It's  not  very 
masculine." 

"  What  is?  "  she  inquired.  "  We  only  think  of  mas- 
culine as  meaning  something  crude  and  stupid,  the  in- 
stinct to  go  out  and  kill  something,  to  drink  too  much, 
and  so  on.    It's  not  really  a  vital  distinction." 

Nigel's  brows  went  up  in  a  smile  of  surprise. 

"Is  that  true?"  he  asked.  "I  don't  mean  I'm  dis- 
agreeing." 

"  Isn't  it  ?  Aren't  there  crude  and  stupid  women  ? 
They're  most  of  them  that.  Their  instinct  is  just  as 
much  to  kill.  There's  not  much  difference,  it  seems  to 
me.  Because  a  man  is  well-bred  he  isn't  necessarily 
effeminate." 

''  One  thinks  ...  I  suppose  I'd  been  thinking  of 
man  as  an  out-door  beast.  I  really  can't  put  up  a  fight, 
Marian.  I'd  never  thought  about  it.  I  think  I  like  to 
make  a  mental  distinction  between  the  sexes.  That's 
masculine,  isn't  it?  " 


ft 


<< 


178  SEPTEMBER 

"My  dear!  If  you  had  heard  ordinary  women  gen- 
eralise about  men !  "  cried  Marian.  She  did  not  realise 
that  she  had  said  "  my  dear." 

"  You  don't  think  there's  a  distinction?  " 
I  don't  make  it.    Women  are  human  beings." 
One's  taught  to  think  of  them  as  more." 
Yes.    And  you  end  by  thinking  them  less." 

Nigel  was  quiet  for  a  moment. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  at  last,  thoughtfully.  "I  think 
of  you  as  something  very  much  more  ...  I  don't 
mean,  inhuman.  I  mean  finer,  truer,  more  concerned 
with  essential  things." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  were  old  and  pained. 

"  That's  a  mistake  that  every  young  and  chivalrous 
man  makes,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
it  otherwise.  But  it  isn't  true.  I  .  .  .  We  are  be- 
trayed by  what  is  false  within." 

"  But  you/'  Nigel  cried.  "  Marian :  you  see  this  is 
more  than  a  casual  impression.  It's  a  conviction.  I  think 
of  you  as  entirely  candid  and  true.  Forgive  me.  I  know 
it's  all  awful — to  talk  like  this ;  but  I  must  say  it." 

Again  Marian  looked  at  him,  stirred  to  pity. 

"  And  don't  you  see  that's  what  makes  you  so  at- 
tractively naive?  "  she  cruelly  said.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
your  youth  believes  in  everything,  and  only  your  expe- 
rience checks  you  from  the  folly  of  obeying  every  im- 
pulse?" 

Nigel  paled. 

"You  think  of  me  as  young?"  he  asked.  "I  mean, 
that's  your  first  thought  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is,"  Marian  replied,  committed  by  perverse 
instinct  to  this  cruelty.  She  could  not,  however,  leave  it 
unmodified.  She  could  not  have  borne  to  do  so.  "  You 
mustn't  suppose  it's  reproach,  or  a  slight.  It's  a  source 
of  pleasure." 


NERVES  179 

"  Well,"  said  Nigel,  with  some  difficulty.  "  I  think 
of  you  as  young.  But  not  naive.  I  don't  think  I  was 
that.  I  see  I  must  be.  Of  course,  it  hurts  me.  I  thought 
you  felt   .    .    .   equal.    I  see  you   ..." 

"  Nigel !  " 

"  Oh,  Marian,  I  must   ..."    He  started  to  his  feet. 

"  You've  finished  tea  ?  "    Marian  also  rose. 

Nigel  was  beside  her,  taller  than  she  by  so  little  that 
their  eyes  were  almost  level. 

"  Marian,  I  must  touch  you."  His  arm  was  around 
her — quite  gently;  not  in  embrace.  She  did  not  draw 
herself  away.  Her  face  was  unreadable.  Every  least 
piece  of  art  in  her  hurried  to  make  it  a  mask,  to  make  her 
voice  cool,  to  make  her  body  immutably  her  own. 

"  Well  ? '"  she  said,  very  quietly.  His  arm  dropped. 
He  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  no  good,"  said  Nigel.  "  I  see  what  you  say  is 
true.  I'm  very  naive.  Are  you  .  .  .  are  you  so  ex- 
perienced ?  '  It  was  his  first  bitterness,  drawn  from  his 
deep  perplexity  about  her. 

Marian  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"  I've  suffered  more  than  you,"  she  said,  her  eyes  veiled 
from  him.    "  I  know  more." 

"  I  know  it.  I've  always  known  it.  But  not  that  you 
despised  me." 

She  was  deeply  shocked.  Impulsively  she  caught  his 
arm. 

"  I've  never  done  that,  Nigel." 

"  I  wonder."  He  moved  away,  looking  about  the  room 
in  little  jerks  of  thought.  "  It  means  so  much  to  me  to 
have  your   .    .    .   your  respect." 

"  You  have  it.     I  respect  no  one  more." 

'  It's  not  .  .  .  it's  not  only  your  respect  I  want," 
cried  Nigel. 


180  SEPTEMBER 


Marian's  lips  were  twisted  in  a  smile  that  must  have 
seemed  to  him  ironic.  They  faced  each  other,  but  not 
with  any  interchange  of  glance.  She  felt  more  tired 
than  she  could  remember  feeling  since  the  days  of  How- 
ard's first  known  unfaithfulness. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  wearily,  pityingly.  Nigel  re- 
mained still  for  a  moment.  At  last,  in  a  tone  of  husky 
reproach,  he  spoke  again. 

"  You're  different,  to-day,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  different  every  day." 

"  So  am  I !  "  It  was  defiant,  the  voice  of  a  young 
creature  in  pain.  "  I'm  different.  I  can  be  as  cruel  as 
you." 

"  Yes,  I'm  very  cruel,"  Marian  said.    "Very  cold." 

"And  so  warm  and  kind  ..."  His  loyalty  came 
rushing  back. 

"  Interested,"  she  corrected. 

Nigel  crossed  the  intervening  space,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  gravity  that  equalled  Marian's  own. 

"  I  think  I  know  you,"  he  said.  "  I  know  you  better 
than  that." 

Marian  did  not  flinch. 

"  It  just  occurs  to  me  to  wonder,"  she  said,  "  why 
we're  talking  like  this  at  all.  It's  rather  unnecessarily 
intense,  isn't  it?"  She  spoke  very  quietly,  and  not  at 
all  lightly.  Her  tone  took  all  the  insincerity  from  her 
words.    Nigel  responded  in  a  tone  as  serious. 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  he  said.  "  I  expect  I've  been  making 
a  fool  of  myself."  As  she  did  not  attempt  a  response, 
he  asked:  "Havel?" 

"  No,"  answered  Marian.  "  But  I  think  I've  been  be- 
having abominably.  We'll  put  it  down  to  the  weather, 
shall  we?" 


NERVES  181 

"  I  wish  we  could,"  Nigel  told  her.  "  It's  more  than 
that,  though.  If  only  I  could  understand!  Marian,  how 
is  it  two  people  cannot  open  their  hearts  to  one  another?  " 

Marian  gave  a  quick  smile. 

"  It's  because  they  haven't  got  the  keys  to  their 
own  hearts,"  she  replied.  "  And  as  for  the  other 
people  ..." 

"  Yes?  "    Because  she  had  stopped,  he  urged  her. 

"  They  carry  emergency  keys,  and  they  don't  fit,  I 
suppose.  I'm  proud  of  that  fancy.  I  hadn't  thought  of 
it  before." 

"  And  you  say  I'm  young!  "  cried  Nigel,  reproachfully. 

"  I  couldn't  tease  you  if  you  were  old." 

The  danger,  perhaps,  was  past.  Marian  felt  no  longer 
stilted.  She  no  longer  felt  that  she  must  stand  perfectly 
still.  Even  as  she  had  this  instinct  it  faded;  for  she 
knew  the  atmosphere  had  changed. 

"  No,  it's  no  good,"  Nigel  said.  "  I  can't  joke.  It 
hurts  me  when  you  tease  me.  I  think  I'll  go  now.  Ma- 
rian, are  you  being  quite  sincere  with  me?  " 

"  Nigel,  I'm  trying  to  be  sincere  to  myself." 

"Not  to  me?" 

"  Only  secondarily." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  sincere  to  me.    I'm  sincere  to  you." 

"  I  know  you  are.  Nigel,  my  dear;  d'you  think  I  don't 
appreciate  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."    It  was  a  pained,  unhappy  admission. 

'  Do  .  .  .  do  believe  me.  If  I  were  to  say  how 
much  ..."  She  checked  herself  with  great  effort, 
"  how  much  I  believe  in  you,  you'd  be  embarrassed." 

"  Try  me,"  he  urged,  with  a  sharp  laugh. 

"  Nigel  ! " 

"  I'm  sorry.  Good-bye,  Marian.  I've  been  a  pig  this 
afternoon.  Forgive  me.  I  .  .  .1  won't  come  till 
1  m 


182  SEPTEMBER 

"  It's  the  weather,  you  know,"  she  interposed. 

"  Yes,  the  weather,"  said  Nigel.  He  had  a  very  grave 
face  as  he  drove  off.  Marian,  returning  to  the  house, 
found  that  her  mouth  was  dry  and  her  knees  unsteady. 
She  sat  quietly  down.  She  wished  she  could  cry.  It 
would  have  been  a  relief  to  cry.  Now,  all  her  tears 
seemed  gathered  about  her  heart.  Poor  heart,  it  was 
drowning. 


CHAPTER  VIII:  HOWARD 


THE  interval  between  Nigel's  going  and  the  return 
of  Howard  was  for  Marian  one  long  silent  misery. 
She  had  in  her  nature  no  voluptuous  satisfaction,  such 
as  many  women  possess,  in  the  contemplation  of  her  own 
pain.  It  was  not  that  she  sheathed  herself  against  pain, 
or  that  she  dreaded  it ;  but  simply  that  her  mind  was  free 
from  sentimentality.  Having  resources  within  herself 
she  did  not  need  the  excitements  of  hysteria.  The  heart- 
ache from  which  she  suffered  was  dual  in  its  cause. 
Obeying  instinct,  she  had  inflicted  pain,  however  tran- 
sient; that  which  she  herself  endured  she  knew  to  go 
deep  into  her  being. 

As  the  time  for  Howard's  arrival  drew  near  she  went 
upstairs  to  bathe  her  face  and  to  change  her  dress.  She 
was  shocked  at  the  greyness  of  her  pallor.  The  face 
she  saw  in  the  mirror  was  haggard.  Lines  showed  in 
the  forehead  and  at  the  corners  of  her  tightly  closed  lips. 
Thank  God  she  had  not  to  meet  a  woman !  With  How- 
ard she  could  hope  to  deal :  she  had  no  fear  of  him. 
Women  had  looked  into  their  own  mirrors,  and  so  were 
skilled  in  the  reading  of  faces. 

But  after  she  had  washed,  Marian  looked  better.  Her 
health  was  normally  too  good  to  permit  of  serious  reve- 
lations, even  after  a  night  and  day  of  distress.  In  her 
evening  frock,  with  her  hair  done  afresh,  she  regained 
some  of  the  cool  loveliness  that  was  the  heritage  of  her 
quiet  life.     Again  she  regarded  herself. 

"  I'm  better,"   she   thought.      "  I    feel   better."      Ex- 

183 


184  SEPTEMBER 

traordinarily  rapid  thoughts  flew  through  her  brain,  too 
quickly  to  be  transfixed.     "  I'm  still  pretty.     Why  don't 
I  still  satisfy  Howard?    Could  I?    Do  I  want  him  back 
as  my  lover?    No:  I  could  do  it.    I  think  I  could  do  it; 
but  I  don't  want  to.     I  couldn't  bear  it.     Besides,  pos- 
session, to  a  man  like  Howard   .    .    .   Nigel.    He's  loyal. 
He's  beautifully  sincere.    If  there's  anything  it  will  pass. 
Can  I  bear  that  also?     I  can  bear  anything — anything. 
But  he's  so  simple  in  heart.     Is  he?    What  do  I  know? 
What  does  anybody  know  ?    I  don't  know  anything  about 
myself.    If  I  were  really  tempted   .    .    .     Why  does  one 
risk   temptation   at  all?     Is   it  cowardice,   is   it   .    .    . 
What  is  it?    Fear  of  consequences?     Dread  of  the  un- 
known?    He'll  tire.     He  doesn't  think.     .     .     .      I've 
imagined  all  this.    There's  no  crisis  at  all.    There's  noth- 
ing.    There  never  is  anything,  except  what  one  creates 
in  one's  mind.     Is  it  just  that  I  shackle  myself?    Or  is 
self-control  a  virtue?    What  do  I  want?     I  don't  know 
what  I  want.     I  don't  think  things  out.     I'm  lymphatic, 
cold,  hugging  my  own  vanity.     I  want  admiration;  but 
not  its  sequels.    Not  the  sacrifices  that  go  with  its  grati- 
fication.   I  want  to  be  always  myself,  always  the  thing  I 
know  as  Marian.    How  strange  it  is !    How  callous  I  am 
towards  myself!    That's  my  inhumanity.     It's  not  that 
I'm  cruel  to  others.    Only  to  myself,  and  incidentally  to 
them.     I'm  hard — no,  not  hard.     I  hope  I'm  not  hard, 
because  I  so  hate  hardness  in  other  people.    I'm  too  old. 
I'm  so  old  and  timid  that  I  can't  let  myself  go.    I've  been 
a  coward  to-day.    Yesterday  I  was  a  coward,  egged  on 
by   curiosity.      Curiosity,   the   sense   of   danger  .    .    . 
What  a  charm  risk  has !    And  then  I  withdrew,  like  a  cat 
afraid  to  wet  its  paws.     He'll  think  less  of  me.     He's 
disappointed.    He's  found  me  out.    He  knows  now  that 
I'm  as  false  as  any  other  woman   ..." 
That  thought  was  too  much  for  Marian.    Aloud,  look- 


HOWARD  185 

ing  straight  before  her,  she  said  in  a  little  moved  voice 
that  she  made  no  attempt  to  control : 

"  My  dearest,  I'm  not  false.  I'm  true.  I'm  true 
enough  to  sacrifice  myself.  You  see  how  readily  I  sacri- 
fice both  of  us."  It  was  bitter  irony  that  overtook  her. 
"  I  wonder  if  you're  as  true.    If  you  were   ..." 

Her  hands  were  pressed  to  her  face,  covering  the 
treacherous  lips.  Very  gravely  she  turned,  and  crossed 
the  room  to  the  door.    Marian  was  in  deep  thought. 

ii 

Howard  came.  He  was  unchanged.  Still  his  face  was 
drawn,  and  his  manner  unusually  gentle.  They  seemed 
happier  together  than  they  had  been  for  years.  He  had 
been  working,  and  he  was  tired.  But  he  was  not  at  all 
irritable.    Marian  thought : 

"  A  man  of  Howard's  age  can  love  a  young  girl.  It's 
so  simple.  He  can  flatter  her  vanity.  He  can  attract  her. 
The  converse  is  untrue.  A  woman  always  carries  the 
sense  of  her  age.  It's  because  she  is  mature  early.  Men 
are  never  mature.  They're  always  children.  How  untrue 
that  is!  They  like  to  think  of  us  as  mature.  And  we 
respond.  Always  we  respond.  What  a  puzzle  it  is !  As 
though  I  knew  any  more,  or  any  less,  than  he.  As  though 
I  understood  any  more  than  Nigel !  " 

She  was  at  the  time  sitting  opposite  to  Howard.  In 
his  silence  she  found  forgetfulness  of  her  own  thoughts, 
which  went  on  beneath  her  attention,  like  the  undersong 
of  a  summer  afternoon  in  the  country.  Nobody,  least 
of  all  Howard,  would  have  guessed  her  unhappiness.  It 
was  hidden  away,  already  a  memory. 

•  •  • 

in 

"  Nigel  Sinclair  called  this  afternoon,"  Marian  said. 
"  He  just  came  over  to  tea."    Howard  listlessly  nodded. 


186  SEPTEMBER 

"  The  Sinclairs  seemed  just  the  same  as  ever.  I  don't 
think  they'll  ever  change." 

"  No.    They  don't  live.    They  stagnate." 

"  They  seem  to  get  a  lot  of  pleasure  out  of  their  exist- 
ence. Perhaps  we  shall  be  like  that  in  a  few  years, 
Howard." 

"God  forbid!"  he  ejaculated.  That  started  Marian 
upon  a  fresh  track. 

"  You'd  rather  be   .    .    .   worried?" 

He  brushed  his  napkin  across  his  lips. 

"  So  would  you,"  he  remarked,  abruptly.  It  surprised 
her. 

"  I  thought  you  thought  me  very  placid,"  she  ventured. 
"Don't  you?" 

"  Anybody  would  think  we  hadn't  been  married  for 
fifteen  years.     D'you  think  I'm  an  owl?    I  know  you're 

alive." 

Marian  laughed,  not  very  heartily,  but  with  a  note  of 
uncertainty. 

"  You're  not  generally  so   .    .    .   lavish   ..."  she 

said. 

"You've  always  underrated  my  intelligence,"  was 
Howard's  retort.    "  At  least,  as  long  as  I  can  remember." 

Had  she  done  that?  Marian  pondered.  She  didn't 
think  it  true. 

"  No,"  she  claimed.  "  I  think  we  could  still  quarrel. 
Only  we  don't." 

"  Not  openly,"  said  Howard,  with  a  grim  smile. 
"  You're  too  clever  for  me." 

iv 

Marian  thought :  It  seems  that  you  can  still  surprise 
me,  for  all  my  cleverness ! 

"  I  don't  think  I  underrate  you,"  she  said,  in  a  moment. 
"  How  do  I  seem  to  do  it  ?  " 


HOWARD  187 

Howard's  silence  was  as  full  as  her  own  had  been. 

"  Well,  you  don't  say  much  to  me,"  he  explained. 

"  That's  because  I  said  it  all  years  ago,"  suggested 
Marian.    "  Nothing's  left." 

"  No,"  he  surprisingly  asserted.     "  You  gave  me  up." 

"  I  didn't  think  I'd  been  so  stupid.  You've  never  given 
me  up.    Perhaps  I'm  defending  myself." 

"  It's  not  that.  You  don't  defend  yourself.  That's 
one  reason  why  I  feel  you're  so  damned  superior  to  me." 

"  Well,  Howard,  you  don't  really  feel  that,"  she  ob- 
jected, frankly.    It  was  too  absurd. 

He  reflected,  still  without  irritation.  His  red  face 
grew  a  little  redder. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  he  admitted.  "  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
did.  Then  I  could  blame  you.  D'you  never  realise  how 
annoying  it  is  to  be  married  to  a  woman  who  understands 
you  too  well?  I  never  get  a  chance  to  feel  superior  to 
you.  I  never  feel  you're  a  prig,  or  an  old  maid;  but  I 
do  feel  there's  a  sort  of  god-like  calm  about  you.  It's 
damned  annoying." 

His  speech — rather  a  long  one  for  Howard — had 
been  so  candid  that  Marian  weighed  it  before 
answering. 

"  You  needn't  envy  my  god-like  calm,"  she  said,  rather 
pleadingly.    "  It  isn't  real." 

"  I  never  know  you.  I  know  you  know  me  pretty  well 
all  through."  He  paused,  thinking.  At  last,  he  went  on, 
harshly,  "  How  did  you  find  out  about   .    .    .   this?" 

"  About  what?  "    Against  her  will  she  was  inexorable. 
'  You  knew  I  was  miserable.    I'm  in  hell." 
'  You're  not  exactly  an  enigma,"  said  Marian,  cau- 
tiously.   Howard  gave  a  rough  laugh. 

'  You  see  what  I  mean,"  he  cried.  "  You  arc!  That's 
what  I  complain  of.  Sometimes  I  feel  you  know  every- 
thing.   You  don't,  of  course." 


188  SEPTEMBER 

"I'm  quite  sure  I  don't,"  said  Marian,  with  a  pale 
smile. 


Later  in  the  evening  Howard  resumed  his  strange 
topic. 

"D'you  know  you're  the  only  friend  I've  got?"  he 
asked,  abruptly.  Marian  did  not  answer.  "  I've  got  no 
friends.    You  make  friends." 

"  Never,"  she  said. 

"  Easily.  Look  at  this  young  chap — Sinclair.  Any- 
body can  see  that  you  can  do  anything  you  like  with  him. 
You  don't  even  flirt  with  him.  You're  like — not  ice,  but 
steel.  You  know,  Marian,  you're  a  beautiful  woman. 
Beautiful.    I'm  proud  of  you.    And  what  am  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you  that,"  admitted  Marian. 

"  I  know.  You'll  say  I'm  a  sentimentalist.  Damn 
your  brains.  They're  a  rotten  thing  for  a  woman  to 
have.    Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  On  the  whole,  yes." 

"  You  look  a  bit  blue  now." 

"  It's  the  weather.    The  whole  day's  been  trying." 

"  Yes.    Is  young  Sinclair  in  love  with  you?  " 

It  was  so  unexpected  that  Marian  jumped.  The  shock 
was  immediately  past;  but  it  had  been  severe. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said,  composedly.  She  dreaded  a 
supplementary  question.  It  did  not  come.  Instead, 
Howard  went  on,  quite  believingly : 

"You're  a  marvelous  woman.  You  can  deal  with 
anything.  D'you  know  that  you  made  me  feel  the  com- 
plete cad  about  .    .    .   about  that  kid  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  did.  Without  a  word.  It's  extraordinary  what 
a  power  you  have  over  me.    I  suppose  it's  personality — 


HOWARD  189 

moral  power.  And  I  go  wambling  on,  boring  you;  and 
you  don't  shut  me  up." 

Marian  rose.     It  was  ten  o'clock. 

"  I  shall  now,"  she  said.  "  I'm  positively  too  tired  to 
stay  up  any  longer." 

Howard  came  nearer,  and  put  his  arms  round  her. 
For  an  instant  she  submitted  without  constraint  to  his 
embrace.  He  kissed  her  lips.  That  showed  how  dead 
her  love  for  him  was.  She  was  entirely  unresponsive. 
Howard's  cheeks  might  have  been  the  back  of  her  own 
hand  for  all  contact  with  it  meant  to  her.  She  was  glad 
when  he  let  her  go  again. 


CHAPTER  IX:  SUMMONS 


FOR  a  week  Marian  neither  saw  nor  heard  from 
Nigel.  Sometimes  she  was  thankful;  sometimes  she 
was  so  sick  with  longing  for  his  presence  that  she  was 
tempted  strongly  to  send  a  message  to  the  Sinclairs. 
Pride  forbade  that — and  perhaps  caution.  She  did  not 
write.  When  Howard  again  went  to  London  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  week  she  was  many  times  torn  with  vehemently 
conflicting  impulses.  They  came  in  waves,  at  first  over- 
whelming her,  and  then  gradually,  as  Marian's  will 
asserted  its  power,  dying  once  again  into  nothing.  The 
temptation  was  always  the  same;  her  defences  were 
always  different.  They  were  lonely  days,  in  which  she 
spent  much  time  in  such  heightened  scrutiny  of  Howard, 
and  Nigel,  and  herself  that  extraordinary  new  insights 
came  to  her  about  all  three.  Although  tormented  and 
unhappy,  she  was  never  hysterical,  because  she  was  deal- 
ing with  a  matter  principally  affecting  herself,  and  she 
had  herself  in  control.  Nigel  away,  her  self-distrust  was 
quiescent. 

Each  day  Marian's  mood  changed.  The  summer  was 
at  its  height;  the  middle  days  of  July  were  making  the 
garden  radiant.  Everywhere,  in  garden  and  house,  there 
was  work  that  claimed  her  attention ;  and  when  she  was 
working  she  forgot  every  doubt  and  found  relief.  Books 
were  less  successful;  a  book  will  always  give  way  to  a 
train  of  thought.  Only  active  occupation  can  really  dis- 
tract the  unhappy  mind.    But  the  garden  always  pleased 

190 


SUMMONS  191 

her,  and  she  thought :  "If  Nigel  were  here,  how  content 
I  should  be." 

Nigel — Nigel — Nigel.  That  was  her  obsession. 
Tones  and  words  and  emotions  throbbed  in  her  memory. 
Marian  could  see  him  as  he  had  been  at  each  of  their 
meetings,  and  as  if  he  were  still  speaking  she  could  con- 
tinuously hear  his  declared  opinions — expressed  in  that 
ardent  voice  that  so  moved  her.  Always  her  vision  of 
him  was  a  happy  one.  She  found  herself  smiling.  Never 
did  there  come  the  quick  painful  rushing  of  a  glimpsed 
antagonism.  All  was  happy  and  charming.  Until  their 
last  encounter,  when  there  was  still  no  jarring  note  in  her 
memory,  but  only  a  kind  of  remorse  and  a  defensive  be- 
wilderment. 

She  longed  for  their  meeting.  That  he  would  come 
again  Marian  did  not  question.  Although  she  might  ner- 
vously dread  such  a  meeting  her  heart  both  demanded 
and  expected  it.  There  was  never  in  her  mind  the  sense 
that  Nigel  had  gone  forever.  If  there  had  been  that, 
her  pain  would  have  been  almost  unbearable.  She  con- 
tinued to  look  with  confidence  to  their  restored  intimacy. 

ii 

At  last  it  was  Thursday,  and  she  had  a  long  day  in 
the  July  sunshine.  The  garden  had  never  been  more 
lovely,  and  she  was  out-of-doors  during  the  whole  of  the 
morning.  In  vain  did  she  strain  longing  ears  to  catch 
the  most  distant  hum  of  Nigel's  car.  A  bumble-bee 
blundering  about  neighbouring  flowers  made  her  start. 
Other  sounds,  the  far-distant  lowing  of  a  cow,  the  happy 
twittering  of  the  birds,  made  the  countryside  appear  full 
of  inexhaustible  energy.  Everything  in  the  garden  was 
still,  but  a  breeze  moved  the  leaves  upon  upper  branches 
of  the  tall  poplars.  Butterflies  flickered  about  the  lawn; 
a  dragonfly  whipped  brilliantly  before  her  eyes.     List- 


192  SEPTEMBER 

lessly,  Marian  heard  and  saw  it  all — the  endless  current 
of  the  July  day.  It  would  go  on  if  she  were  not  there. 
Her  presence  was  only  a  part  of  the  whole  scene,  an 
insignificant  part  to  everything  except  herself.  She  felt 
remote  from  the  world,  lost  in  one  of  its  backwaters. 
Bitterly  she  was  assailed  by  that  sense  of  uselessness  to 
which  her  attention  had  first  been  drawn  in  Cherry's 
energetic  company. 

With  a  quick  sting  of  jealousy,  Marian  realised  that 
Cherry's  energy  was  no  more  fruitful  than  her  own  calm. 
Cherry  wasted  her  physical  energy  at  the  bidding  of  her 
restless  nerves.  She  was  like  every  other  young  animal, 
exulting  in  her  youth  and  wantonly  scattering  its  marvels 
because  they  seemed  as  plenteous  and  recurrent  as  the 
golden  hours.  Was  she  so  to  be  envied  ?  Marian  thought 
not.  If  it  had  not  been  for  her  present  malaise  she  would 
have  continued  to  pity  Cherry.  It  was  a  sign  of  weak- 
ness that  Marian's  pity  had  for  a  moment  given  way 
before  her  longing  for  the  lost  power  to  be  imprudent. 
Prudence,  caution — those  September  qualities  as  extolled 
by  all  mediocre  philosophers — were  without  savour. 
Having  them,  Marian  rebelled  against  her  possessions, 
because  they  had  so  long  ago  mastered  her  impulses. 
The  victory  was  always  to  youth.    Alas ! 

The  morning  was  gone.  Strange  that  she  should  so 
have  counted  upon  his  coming!  Was  it  her  need  alone 
that  had  provoked  such  an  intuitive  certainty?  How 
could  Marian  tell?  Upon  awaking,  she  had  thought  to 
explain  a  new  sense  of  happiness  by  this  expectation.  If 
he  did  not  come,  what  was  she  to  do  ?  Another  week,  he 
would  be  gone ;  and  then  they  could  not  meet  again  until 
September.  A  chill  stole  upon  her.  Of  course  he  must 
come — if  it  were  only  to  say  good-bye.  But  why  had  he 
not  come  before?  Was  this  a  cruelty,  or  a  feeling  of 
humiliation  ?    She  was  racked  by  fresh  doubts,  miserably 


SUMMONS  193 

affected  by  all  the  thoughts  which  her  quick  brain  so  mis- 
chievously obtruded  upon  her  attention.  The  afternoon 
drew  slowly  to  its  end.  She  waited.  In  vain.  When  the 
hour  came  for  her  evening  meal  she  had  entirely  lost 
heart.  It  was  too  late.  He  would  not  come  now.  Sober 
and  chagrined,  Marian  sat  alone,  stupid  with  disappoint- 
ment. 

iii 

The  evening  was  beautifully  warm  and  fragrant. 
Drawn  by  its  loveliness,  Marian  pulled  back  the  curtain 
that  had  hung  across  the  open  french  windows,  and  stood 
looking  out  into  the  twilight.  The  sky  was  almost 
mauve,  and  faint  stars  glistened.  The  trees  looked  very 
dark,  because  they  were  so  dense  and  because  they  stood 
out  against  the  pale  sky.  There  was  no  noise.  Tempted 
farther  by  the  quietness,  Marian  went  into  the  garden, 
walking  slowly,  as  if  she  were  dreaming.  In  her  light 
dress  she  looked  almost  spectral  in  that  dimness. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock.  The  servants  had  all  gone 
to  bed.  She  was  alone.  She  stood  looking  hither  and 
thither,  at  the  flowers  and  into  the  distance,  so  gently 
curtained  by  the  falling  night.  For  a  time  she  had  no 
thought  of  her  loneliness;  and  then  a  small  timidity,  due, 
perhaps,  to  no  more  than  a  flutter  of  air  upon  her  cheek, 
caused  Marian  to  resolve  that  she  would  stay  no  longer. 
She  turned  accordingly  towards  the  house,  walking  with 
her  head  bent,  seeing  the  grass  mysterious  before  her, 
very  soft  and  colourless  in  the  general  grey. 

She  had  taken  only  a  few  steps  when  the  tiniest  sound 
caught  her  ear.  She  stood  quite  still,  listening.  It  had 
been  the  click  of  a  latch,  carried  on  the  stillness,  but  un- 
mistakable. She  thought  it  must  be  the  latch  of  the  gate 
leading  from  the  road  to  the  house,  and  moved  to  a  point 
from  which  she  could  command  the  gravel  drive.    With 


194  SEPTEMBER 

a  tremor  she  discovered  that  her  guess  had  been  correct. 
There  was  a  figure  within  the  gate.  Excited,  and  a  little 
frightened,  Marian  went  forward.  The  figure  was  that 
of  a  man.  He  appeared  to  be  leaning  a  bicycle  against  a 
tree.  As  she  watched  him,  the  man  stood  upright,  and 
came  quietly  towards  her.  Marian  did  not  stop,  but 
went  on,  her  nerves  quivering,  but  her  courage  now  high. 
The  man  suddenly  raised  his  hand.  He  took  his  cap  off, 
and  carried  it  as  though  to  attract  her  attention.  Then 
only  did  instinct  tell  her  that  this  was  Nigel. 

iv 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Marian,"  he  called  softly. 

"  Nigel !  "  Her  cry  was  choking.  They  were  imme- 
diately afterwards  together. 

"  It's  a  terrible  hour  to  come.  I  have  to  go  away  very 
early  in  the  morning.  I  only  knew  just  after  dinner,  and 
I  cycled  over.     Is  your  husband  here  ?  " 

"No.    In  town.    What  is  it?" 

"Can  we  walk  in  the  garden?"  They  turned  again, 
surrounded  by  the  mysterious  gloom.  "  Look  here,  Ma- 
rian.   This  is  just  between  us,  you  understand   .    .    .  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  My  father  wrote  to  me  yesterday — a  long  letter — 
saying  that  he  thought  I'd  better  go  back  to  town  at  once. 
He  promised  to  telegraph  if  it  was  necessary;  and  he's 
done  so.  I  can't  go  to-night.  It's  too  late.  But  I  must 
be  at  the  office  in  the  morning.  Marian,  you  know  that 
a  man  like  my  father  has  all  sorts  of  ways  of  hearing 
things  that  we  don't  hear.  He's  .  .  .  well,  you  must 
let  me  say  that,  and  take  it  for  granted,  because  I  know 
it  is  so  .  .  .  He's  somehow  got  the  idea — I  don't  know 
how — that  there  is  danger  of  a  war,  a  big  war." 

"  A  what! "  Marian  was  aghast.     "  But  why?  " 
I  don't  know.    You  see,  I've  been  down  here.    I've 


a 


SUMMONS  195 

been  seeing  no  papers  at  all.  And  no  people,  either.  He 
may  have  heard  it  at  his  club.  There's  always  club- 
chatter.  Or  privately.  In  all  sorts  of  ways.  I  know 
nothing.  But  he's  not  an  alarmist.  If  he  says  there's  a 
danger,  it's  likely.  So  he  wants  me  back  at  once,  because 
we've  got  commitments  all  over  the  world   ..." 

"But  Nigel!    Not  a  war  that   .    .    .   England   .    .    ." 

"  I  don't  know.  It  seems  impossible.  If  there's  any- 
thing, you'll  hear  of  it.  If  it's  nothing,  then  my  going 
won't  mean  anything.  You  mustn't  feel  troubled  at  all 
about  it.  I  tell  you  so  as  to  explain  why  I'm  going.  I've 
only  told  uncle  and  aunt — and  now  you.  I  couldn't  bear 
to  go  without  seeing  you.  I  had  to  come.  Not  to  worry 
you  with  fears,  or  about  myself    ..." 

"  Nigel! '  Marian  put  her  hand  quickly  to  his  arm. 
All  her  fears  for  him  were  alert. 

"  Just  to  say  good-bye   .    .    .   until  September." 

"  No  more?  "    She  was  breathless. 

'  No.  Until  September.  I  couldn't  bear  to  go  with- 
out seeing  you    ..." 

'  Of  course  not."  Although  her  voice  was  unsteady, 
Marian  was  urgent.  "  Why  haven't  you  been 
before?" 

Nigel  did  not  speak  at  once.  She  heard  his  breath 
drawn  deep. 

'  Would  you  have  cared  for  me  to  come?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  thought  you  were  tired  of  me." 

They  were  standing  very  close  together  now,  their 
arms  and  shoulders  touching. 

"Why  should  you  think  that?"  asked  Marian,  in  a 
strange,  heavy  voice.  She  could  hardly  see  his  face.  He 
seemed  in  this  light  so  impassive;  and  his  whole  manner 
was  so  changed  that  he  was  a  different  man  from  the 
Nigel  she  had  understood  a  week  ago.  He  was  older; 
not  sanguine  now,  but  in  the  grip  of  some  emotion  more 


196  SEPTEMBER  "' 

resolute  than  his  old  eagerness.     His  voice  chilled  her 
with  foreboding. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Nigel,  slowly.  "  I  wish  I  did 
know." 

"  It's  not  true,"  Marian  told  him.  "  I'm  anxious  about 
you  now." 

Impulsively  she  moved  away  from  him,  and  they  con- 
tinued to  walk  together  in  silence.  Now  they  were  in 
the  shadow.  Marian  could  not  think  of  anything  that 
she  could  say  which  would  not  precipitate  some  event 
which  she  dreaded. 

"  I  can't  realise  the  possibility  you  speak  of,"  she  cried. 
"  A  war  seems  such  an  out-of-date  thing.  Isn't  it  pos- 
sible that  when  you  get  to  London  you  may  find  it's  all 
nothing?  And  in  that  case  won't  you  be  able  to  come 
back  here?    It  seems  such  a  shame  to  break  your  rest." 

"  I  don't  know.  Marian,  to  anybody  but  you  I'd  pre- 
tend. I'd  pooh-pooh  the  whole  thing.  I'd  promise  to 
come  back  in  a  couple  of  days.  To  you  I  can't.  I  don't 
think  I  could  ever  pretend  to  you.  So  I  want  you  to 
know  that  my  father's  not  a  chap  to  take  an  alarm  with- 
out reason.  D'you  see?  I  can  only  tell  you  what  he's 
said  to  me.    And  that's  very  little." 

"  I  see,  of  course.  It's  only  that  I  can't  grasp  it.  That 
I'm  so  sorry  you're  going." 

"You  are  sorry?"  he  questioned,  with  a  little  break 
in  his  voice.  "  Marian,  I've  been  thinking  you  might  be 
.    .    .   well,  mildly  glad  for  me  to  go." 

"Why?"  Marian  did  not  recognise  that  hard  voice 
of  hers. 

Nigel  suddenly  put  his  arms  round  her.  They  stood 
in  the  shadow,  their  hearts  beating  very  fast,  breast  to 
breast,  excited  and  in  discomfort.  Then  Marian's  hands 
gently  pressed  him  away.  Nigel's  arms  slackened;  but 
they  did  not  cease  to  embrace  her. 


SUMMONS  197 


u 


No,"  whispered  Marian.  "  No,  Nigel.  I'm  so  sorry, 
my  dear." 

They  stood  apart,  not  looking  at  each  other.  When 
Nigel  spoke  his  voice  was  quite  low  and  dry. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  huskily.  "  After  all,  it's  better 
that  I  should  go." 

Marian  could  not  answer  him.  She  was  stifling,  her 
breast  rising  with  the  sadness  and  agitation  of  her  heart. 
She  could  not  tell  how  great  his  unhappiness  might  be: 
hers  was  overwhelming. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  trying  to  be  wise,  trying  to  be 
composed,  and  her  voice  painfully  thin  and  unsteady. 
"  It's  really  best  that  you  should  go.  Much  the  best. 
There  may  be  no  need  for  you  to  go  .  .  .  Your  father 
may  be  wrong.  I  hope — oh,  I  hope  he  is.  But  if  you 
stayed,  if  you  came  back  ..."  She  could  bear  no 
more.  "  I'm  glad  you  came.  It's  a  relief  to  me.  There 
needn't  ever  be  a  misunderstanding  between  us.  But  you 
must  go  now.    I  don't  think  I  can   ..." 

Uncontrollably  she  raised  her  arms,  and  was  close 
against  him  once  more,  her  eyes  closed  and  her  lips  of- 
fered for  his  kiss.  It  was  their  parting;  and  the  kiss  was 
long.  Nigel  kissed  her  cheek  and  her  breast.  Neither 
spoke.  Perhaps  their  hearts  were  too  full.  Perhaps 
Nigel  was  puzzled,  perhaps  entirely  convinced  by  her 
assumption  that  they  could  never  be  lovers.  Who  could 
tell?  Not  Marian.  Again  they  kissed,  silent  and  pas- 
sionate. Then  once  more  they  separated,  and  went  back 
towards  the  house.  Within  a  few  minutes  Nigel  was 
gone.    The  night  was  silent  again,  and  Marian  was  alone. 


Only  later,  when  she  was  in  her  bedroom,  did  Marian 
awake  from  her  dream.  She  shuddered  deeply :  and 
stood  with  a  feeling  of  exhaustion  overpowering  her. 


198  SEPTEMBER 

She  was  utterly  weary.  Her  mind  was  lethargic,  as 
though  she  had  been  drugged.  She  could  see  nothing, 
had  no  thought  of  going  to  bed  or  of  undressing,  but 
stood  there  trembling,  her  lips  very  dry,  hands  tightly 
clasped.  Nigel  was  gone.  She  had  sent  him  away  uncer- 
tain still  of  her  love.  And  all  because  her  love  was  so 
great.  It  was  not  cowardice  that  had  made  Marian  deny 
herself;  nor  any  sense  of  moral  duty  to  Howard.  She 
had  not  thought  of  Howard.  That  would  come  on  the 
morrow.  Only  some  instinct  had  made  her  see  the  im- 
possibility of  continued  love  between  herself  and  Nigel. 
She  had  followed  her  instinct.  And  this  was  the  result. 
At  last  terrible  physical  anguish  seized  Marian.  She 
knelt  beside  her  bed,  her  arms  stretched  helplessly  across 
the  counterpane.  She  could  endure  no  more.  The  pride 
which  had  supported  her  hitherto,  when  alone  and  with 
Nigel,  was  no  longer  operative.  Passionately  moved,  she 
was  abject  before  the  agony  of  her  parting  with  the 
one  man  who  could  give  her  happiness.  Long  dry  sobs 
shook  her  body.    She  was  without  hope. 


BOOK  THREE:  MARIAN 


CHAPTER  I:  SLOANE  STREET 


THE  Forsters'  flat  was  in  Sloane  Street,  and  in  Sep- 
tember it  was  to  this  flat  that  they  migrated.  The 
first  shock  of  the  oncoming  of  war  had  passed.  The  first 
dark  days  of  fear  and  improvisation  were  over,  and  had 
been  succeeded  by  still  darker  days  of  reality.  Past  was 
that  first  thrilling  Sunday,  when  hoarse-voiced  men 
stirred  every  home  with  their  shouts  of  "  British  Cavalry 
in  Action."  Not  yet  had  the  scourge  of  intoxicated 
gaiety  fallen  upon  the  land,  when  every  night  was  an 
orgy,  justified  by  the  sense  that  time  for  living  was  short 
and  the  temptations  of  the  moment  irresistible.  There 
were  still  large  bodies  of  apathetic  people,  wondering 
what  the  war  was  about,  angrily  debating  the  freedom  of 
Belgium,  the  doctrine  of  deliberate  preparedness  or  un- 
preparedness,  the  fitness  of  ministers  to  conduct  colossal 
operations,  the  moratorium,  etc.  No  general  realisation 
of  the  full  horrors  in  store  for  the  world  was  as  yet  ap- 
parent. The  first  panic  was  subsiding.  England  was 
feeling  its  feet. 

And  the  Forsters  came  to  London  as  though  not  even 
war  could  affect  their  habits.  They  came  to  Sloane 
Street  as  they  had  done  for  six  or  seven  years,  without 
definite  plans,  but  because  they  had  done  it  before.  How- 
ard had  endured  the  first  dread  of  business  failure,  and 
was  beginning  to  realise  that  if  all  went  as  it  promised  to 
do  shipbroking  would  stand  the  strain  of  war-time.  He 
could  not  foresee  that  its  profits  would  increase  beyond 
all  expectation.    The  war  filled  his  mind.     His  talk  was 

201 


202  SEPTEMBER 

all  about  the  war,  about  generals  and  forces,  recruiting, 
club  gossip,  and  unity.  He  settled  into  a  rut  of  argument 
and  assertion,  from  which  nothing  could  shake  him.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  to  abandon  his  superficial  Liberalism. 
He  bought  all  the  newspapers  and  argued  about  them. 
With  Marian  he  did  not  argue.  He  almost  disliked  her, 
she  thought,  for  being  cooler  and  more  resolute  in  criti- 
cism than  he  was  himself.  He  found  her  questions  em- 
barrassing, because  he  knew  too  little  of  international 
affairs  to  enable  him  to  answer  questions  at  all.  His  reli- 
ance upon  Russia,  his  hostility  to  Marian's  distrust  (due 
to  her  inherent  Liberalism)  of  Russia's  Eastern  claims, 
produced  in  Howard  strange  emotional  waves  that  took 
the  form  of  vehement  angers.  And  in  anger  he  could 
not  argue  with  Marian.  He  was  at  too  great  a  disad- 
vantage, as  an  angry  person  will  always  be  in  face  of  one 
who  is  slow  to  anger. 

Marian  was  very  quiet.  Her  view  of  the  war  was 
entirely  personal.  She  at  once  visualised  battlefields  and 
bloody  wounds.  Not  immediately  did  she  feel  the  im- 
pulse to  work  for  the  relief  of  suffering;  and  so  she  was 
dumbly  afraid  of  what  was  going  to  happen  in  thousands 
of  households.  She  foresaw  pain  and  calamity,  young 
happiness  destroyed,  all  the  agony  of  those  who  lost  men 
they  loved.  A  bitter  sense  of  impotence  pervaded  her. 
Gripping  her  heart  there  was  always  the  knowledge  that 
she  might  lose  Nigel. 

ii 

For  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  war  she  had  not  realised 
this  danger.  She  knew  that,  however  high-spirited,  he 
was  cool  in  action.  If  his  father  had  sent  for  him  it  was 
because  he  was  needed  in  the  business.  His  eyes,  she 
thought,  would  keep  him  out  of  the  army.  If  the  first 
vague  fear  occurred  to  her  she  dismissed  it.     She  was 


SLOANE  STREET  203 

not  one  of  those  Spartan  women  who  began  from  the 
first  to  send  young  men  into  the  firing  line.  She  was  too 
acutely  sensitive  to  feel  that  there  was  cause  for  pride 
in  their  attitude.  Hating  war,  she  at  first  desired  only 
to  keep  it  at  a  distance  from  those  she  loved — in  fact, 
from  Nigel.  That  Nigel  was  perturbed  about  his  own 
course  of  action  she  knew  from  his  letters.  It  appeared 
that  he  was  in  several  minds.  He  dreaded  any  imputa- 
tion of  cowardice;  his  strong  sympathy  with  other 
young  men  filled  his  heart  with  a  wish  to  be  of  their 
brave  number ;  his  temperament  as  strongly  revolted  from 
the  thought  of  war  as  the  final  argument  in  human 
affairs.  For  a  time  he  seemed  likely  to  be  swept  by  the 
deluge;  but  when  it  became  known  that  more  men  had 
volunteered  for  the  army  than  could  be  fed  and  clothed 
and  armed,  his  first  impulse  gave  way  to  one  that  was 
more  temperate.  He  worked  without  check  in  his  father's 
business,  and  for  that  time,  at  least,  seemed  to  be  execut- 
ing his  immediate  task.  Nevertheless,  the  knowledge  of 
danger  was  never  absent  from  Marian's  sick  heart. 
Every  letter  from  Nigel  was  opened  with  dread.  When 
she  came  to  London  it  was  her  first  thought  to  see  him 
and  to  ascertain  from  himself  what  the  actual  possibilities 
were. 

In  these  weeks  Marian  had  grown  older.  She  had  lost 
a  little  colour,  and  was  pale.  Her  eyes  were  darker,  her 
mouth  more  constantly  closed.  She  spoke  less,  and 
thought  less;  but  she  felt  more.  Never  had  she  felt  so 
intensely  and  with  such  bitter  pain.  The  pain  seemed  to 
sink  into  her  heart,  that  suffered  always  from  a  feeling 
of  oppression.  If  she  was  superficially  patient,  she  was, 
when  alone,  given  over  to  moods  of  passionate  despair. 
The  fact  that  she  could  never  express  her  feelings  ex- 
acerbated them  and  increased  in  solitude  their  power  over 
her.    For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Marian  found  herself 


204  SEPTEMBER 

in  moments  of  introspection  subject  to  fits  of  hysteria. 
Deeply  shocked,  she  exerted  the  most  violent  self-control, 
only  to  find  that  it  provoked  physical  reactions  the  more 
severe.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  she  desperately  wel- 
comed the  change  to  London.  Here,  at  least,  she  would 
see  Nigel.  Here,  too,  she  would  perhaps  find  sanity  and 
occupation.  In  the  country  the  suspense  had  been  almost 
unendurable.  Nothing  could  be  worse  than  that.  Even 
the  pain  of  seeing  Nigel  would  be  nullified  by  the  great 
joy  it  would  carry  with  it.  It  was  in  this  mood  that 
Marian  came  to  Sloane  Street  in  19 14.  In  this  mood  and 
another  which  at  times  was  one  almost  of  recklessness. 

•  •  • 

111 

For  a  few  days  the  new  surroundings  and  the  need 
for  her  attention  to  many  details  of  household  arrange- 
ment kept  her  mind  busy.  The  war  was  a  hideous  back- 
ground— not,  as  yet,  a  preoccupation ;  and  the  conflicting 
rumors  which  at  that  time  kept  most  London  tongues 
wagging  had  no  place  in  her  thoughts.  She  was  remote 
from  the  war.  Almost,  in  these  days,  she  was  remote 
from  life.  The  flat,  however  clean,  required  attention. 
She  dined  alone;  she  went  out  alone;  she  worked  and 
suffered  with  no  sense  of  community  with  others.  Her 
drawing-room,  a  large  one,  required  rearrangement. 
Her  dining-room  needed  transformation  into  something 
less  like  a  board-room.  She  was  busy — not  happy,  but 
simply  involved  in  the  daily  tasks  preliminary  to  ordinary 
settlement.  As  yet,  air-raids  had  not  yet  become  a  fea- 
ture of  London  nights :  the  streets  were  not  yet  darkened 
sufficiently  to  make  the  evenings  a  distress  to  the  sensitive 
spirit. 

Then,  after  a  time,  Marian  began  reaching  out  to  old 
associations.  She  wrote  to  friends,  and  called  upon  them 
and  received  calls.    She  shopped.    At  first  hesitant  about 


SLOANE  STREET  205 

theatres  and  entertainments,  she  found  herself  recognis- 
ing that  even  amid  wars — as  amid  revolutions — the  ordi- 
nary social  life  of  a  people  continued  with  as  near  an 
approach  to  normality  as  circumstances  allowed.  And 
so  she  once  more  read  the  lists  of  plays  to  be  seen,  of  con- 
certs to  be  given.  She  found  that  dances  were  proceed- 
ing, and  other  revels.  Uniforms  became  more  numerous 
in  the  streets ;  but  they  were  not  as  yet  the  common  wear. 
Girls  and  women  had  not  become  khaki-clad.  They  were 
thoughtlessly  emotional,  fevered  with  the  war  and  with 
the  excitement  of  events;  but  only  a  few  of  them  seemed 
to  have  undertaken  more  than  the  manufacture  of  com- 
forts for  the  troops.  And  so  it  appeared  to  Marian  that 
life  had  not  greatly  changed,  but  was  very  much  as  she 
had  always  known  it. 

She  wrote  to  Alice  Mant.  She  wrote  to  many  others 
whom  she  usually  saw  at  this  season.  For  days  she  hesi- 
tated about  writing  to  Nigel,  until  she  received  from  him 
a  letter  which  had  been  addressed  to  Hippeswell.  Then 
at  last  she  sent  him  a  note,  to  say  that  she  was  in  Lon- 
don. It  was  a  note  that  cost  her  more  pains  than  any 
letter  she  had  ever  written.  For  it  was  essential  that  it 
should  say  no  more,  and  convey  no  more,  than  that  she 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  if  and  when  he  was  able  to 
come.  The  note  was  dispatched.  Marian  waited.  The 
posts  became  ordeals.  Each  morning  she  eagerly  turned 
over  the  letters  that  had  arrived,  a  pain  at  her  heart,  and 
the  pain  deepening  at  each  disappointment.  Every  day 
brought  her  new  pain  nowadays. 

iv 

After  three  days,  Marian  was  in  a  state  of  almost 
absolute  dejection.  She  could  not  understand  Nigel's 
silence.  Again  and  again  she  read  his  letter,  trying  to 
discover  in  what  he  wrote  some  explanation  of  the  later 


206  SEPTEMBER 

silence.  She  could  find  none.  The  letter  was  character- 
istic, and  contained  nothing  at  all  which  could  be  inter- 
preted as  showing  a  disinclination  to  see  her.    It  ran : 

"  My  dear  Marian, — It  seems  so  long  since  your  last 
letter  that  I  must  ask  you  how  you  are  and  what  you  are 
doing.  Are  you  in  London  now?  Do  tell  me.  I  have 
been  terribly  busy,  on  very  uninteresting  work,  all  con- 
nected with  shipping  and  food,  because  it  seems  that  ship- 
ping and  food  are  among  the  most  important  things  in 
modern  war.  I  used  to  think  that  battles  were  won  by 
fighting.  This  is  not  so,  at  any  rate  modern  battles. 
They  are  won  by  maps  and  auxiliary  services — and  the 
greatest  element  of  all  seems  to  lie  in  transport  and  food. 
In  fact,  superficially,  modern  warfare  strikes  me  as  hor- 
ribly inglorious.  For  one  thing  it  is  on  such  a  large 
scale,  and  is  so  much  a  question  of  mathematics  and  com- 
missariat that  the  individual  soldier  doesn't  seem  to  count 
at  all.  Very  likely  that's  just — as  I  said — a  superficial 
view.  I  can't  tell.  But  it  reconciles  me  a  little  to  the 
part  I'm  playing.  Do  you  know,  I've  lost  some  of  the 
feeling  that  I  ought  to  be  in  the  war  in  an  active  sense. 
I've  never  pretended  to  you  that  I  wanted  to  be  a  soldier 
and  kill  my  fellow-men.  I  don't.  But,  like  every  other 
man  I  know,  I'm  horribly  afraid  of  being  thought  a 
physical  coward.  Why  that  should  be,  I  don't  know.  It 
seems  to  me  to  be  primitive.  There  is  so  much  strutting 
about  in  uniform,  and  the  rewards  of  enlistment  are  so 
palpable — I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean  when  we  meet.  All 
the  women  and  girls  seem  to  be  made  to  secure  the  enlist- 
ment of  all  the  men  they  know.  They  begin,  at  times, 
to  show  extraordinary  activity  to  that  end.  That's 
another  primitive  thing,  I  suppose.  A  great  deal 
of  the  booming  of  war  is  very  insidious,  and  I'm  not  im- 
pervious to  it.  I  do  have,  often,  a  fighting  thrill  myself. 
I  imagine  guns,  and  skirmishes,  and  savage  fighting  with 


SLOANE  STREET  207 

a  sort  of  passion.  Then,  immediately  afterwards,  I  get — 
not  craven'  but  coldly  cynical  about  the  whole  thing.  I 
talk  to  myself  about  the  origins  of  the  war,  and  find  my- 
self talking  about  financiers  and  the  sacrificial  instinct 
and  the  herd  instinct,  as  if  I  really  could  detach  myself 
from  the  excitements  of  other  people.  When  any  old 
man  begins  to  talk  about  the  good  that  is  to  come  out  of 
the  war,  the  improvement  in  morals,  in  physique,  and  so 
on,  I  seem  to  get  contemptuous.  I  don't  believe  that.  Do 
you?  I  mean,  I  don't  think  improvement  comes  out  of 
all  this  loud  talk  and  violent  destruction.  I'd  far  rather 
the  simple  issue  wasn't  clouded  by  all  this  sophisticated 
assertion.  It  seems  to  be  merely  so  much  propaganda, 
suggested,  perhaps,  by  newspaper  articles,  but  at  bottom 
dictated  by  beastly  cowardice.  I  don't  know.  My  head 
is  in  a  swim.  I  don't  know  what  I  think.  You  don't 
tell  me  what  you  think.  I  wish  you  would  do  so.  You 
seem  so  awfully  far  away  from  me,  as  though  you  could 
see  everything  without  losing  your  head.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  what  you  think.  Are  you  satisfied  with 
me  ?  Couldn't  you  just  say — as  man  to  man — what  your 
real  view  is?  I'm  not  a  coward ;  but  I'm  not  a  swaggerer 
either;  and  I  want  so  much  to  do  what  is  right.  In  so 
many  words,  I  want  to  do  what  you  think  is  right.  For- 
give me.    I  know  I  must  not  say  that.    So  I  do  say  it. 

"Since  I  saw  you  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal. 
Partly,  of  course,  about  you — knowing  you  had  made  a 
tremendous  difference  in  my  life,  and  in  my  way  of  think- 
ing and  acting.  You  must  let  me  say  that.  It  is  so  funny 
that  when  I  write  to  you  I  seem  to  feel  that  I  am  talking 
to  you,  and  very  anxious  to  be  quite  truthful.  You  re- 
member I  said  I  could  never  tell  you  a  lie,  or  pretend. 
That  is  quite  true.  I  couldn't.  That's  why  I've  tried  to 
say  how  I  feel  about  the  war.  I  know  I  can't  say  any- 
thing profound  about  it ;  but  for  me  the  war  boils  down 


208  SEPTEMBER 

to  the  problem  of  my  own  conduct.  Is  it  a  weaker 
thing  to  give  way  to  the  extraordinary  moral  pressure 
of  opinion  that  is  driving  so  many  men  into  the  army,  or 
to  ignore  opinion  and  do  as  my  father  says?  He  wants 
me  to  stay  here — not  because  he's  a  fool  or  a  coward,  but 
because  he  needs  my  help.  But  those  are  only  minor 
details,  in  a  way.  I  don't  at  present  see  danger  to  those 
I  care  about,  and  I  can't  help  feeling  that  the  people  who 
own  the  country,  who  are  crying  out  for  protection, 
would  be  all  the  better  for  some  humiliation  and  suffer- 
ing. That  also  is  a  minor  detail.  What  it  comes  down 
to  is  that  I  care  nothing  for  the  wealth  of  the  British 
Empire,  or  the  predominance  of  British  trade;  but  am 
most  deeply  affected  by  the  thought  of  other  men  of  my 
age — good  chaps,  and  brave  and  honest — going  to  the 
war,  perhaps  to  be  killed;  and  my  sense  of  comradeship 
with  them,  not  because  they  speak  the  same  language, 
but  because  they  are  men  so  like  myself.  With  me  it  isn't 
the  herd  instinct,  I  think,  but  an  instinct  to  share  what- 
ever ills  these  chaps  are  going  to  suffer.  Marian,  I  think 
it's  a  difficult  thing  to  be  a  young  man,  and  a  young  man 
with  brains,  in  war-time.  Brains  are  almost  always  a 
burden  in  common  affairs.  It's  not  so  much  that  they 
produce  vacillation,  though  they  may  do  that;  but  that 
they  make  one  scrutinise  one's  self  so  closely.  You,  I 
think,  have  found  a  harmony,  a  way  of  being  always  at 
peace  with  your  own  soul.  That's  so  hard  for  me.  I 
am  by  turns  sceptical  and  sanguine.  Sometimes  my 
brains  are  in  command.  Then  I'm  cold  and  self- 
conscious.  And  then  the  next  minute  some  other  thing 
in  me  is  dominant,  and  my  brains  are  pushed  aside.  I 
really  am  an  invertebrate  creature,  I  suppose ;  yet  I  don't 
think  that.  I  only  envy  you  your  wisdom  and  tranquillity. 
You  know,  I  think  you  are  rather  fortunate  not  to  have 
this  continuous  battle  within  yourself.     I  know  it  is  due 


SLOANE  STREET  209 

to  some  great  quality  in  yourself,  but  it  must  be  a  very 
beautiful  thing  to  have  such  a  power  of — what  can  I  call 
it? — tranquillity,  or  self-control,  or  soul-harmony,  or  wise 
detachment  ?  I  don't  know.  You  are  a  marvel !  Do 
please  write  to  me  soon,  and  tell  me  where  you  are. 

Nigel." 

When  Marian  first  read  this  letter  her  bitter  smile  at 
its  concluding  lines  had  remained  fixed  for  several  mo- 
ments. But  when  she  re-read  the  letter  she  was  no  longer 
bitter.  She  only  felt  that  her  heart  was  soft  towards  the 
writer,  so  ingeniously  accepting  her  tranquillity  as  a  fact. 
She  was  full  of  scaring  pride  at  his  confidence  in  her, 
humble  before  it;  and  her  brain  was  at  work  upon  the 
problem  of  Nigel's  character.  If  she  closed  her  eyes  she 
could  see  him  quite  clearly ;  and  that  was  what  made  her 
thoughts  of  him  warm  and  vivid.  To  Marian  he  was 
known — not  in  the  events  of  his  days,  but  in  his  essential 
nature.  Her  knowledge  of  him  grew  imperceptibly  day 
by  day,  as  though  her  first  imagining  had  gained  the 
power  to  attract  and  incorporate  all  the  little  detached 
perceptions  that  swarmed  in  and  just  outside  her  atten- 
tion. She  was  like  a  patience-player,  turning  up  a  fresh 
card  which  transmogrifies  the  whole  array  of  cards 
already  known.  Every  thought  of  Nigel  explained  other 
thoughts  and  gave  them  coherence  and  clearness.  And 
Nigel  thought  of  her  as  living  in  a  harmony  of  brain  and 
sense  spirit!  Poor  boy!  How  fortunate  that  he  was 
blind!    Fortunate!    Did  not  her  heart  say,  unfortunate? 


On  the  third  day,  when  she  was  re-reading  her  letter, 
by  now  so  precious  and  so  familiar,  Marian  was  surprised 
to  find  Howard  quite  near  to  her.    She  must  have  been 


210  SEPTEMBER 

too  absorbed  to  hear  his  approach.  She  had  no  impulse 
to  conceal  the  letter,  but  looked  up  with  a  rather  ab- 
stracted air.    Howard  sat  heavily  down. 

"I'm  tired,"  he  said.  "Aren't  you  tired?"  He 
seemed  dispirited. 

"  I  don't  think  more  than  usual.  I've  had  an  interest- 
ing afternoon." 

"  Have  you  ?  That's  good.  I  wish  I  had.  Who's 
your  letter  from  ?  " 

"This  one?    Nigel  Sinclair." 

Howard  nodded,  acquiescingly.  He  was  not  at  all 
inquisitive  by  nature.  For  a  moment  he  made  no  com- 
ment.    Then  he  casually  asked : 

"  Is  he  in  the  army  yet?  " 

Marian's  heart  went  cold.  It  immediately  began  to 
beat  terribly.  She  had  to  moisten  her  lips  before  an- 
swering. 

"  No.  No,  he's  not,"  she  said,  quite  quietly.  Surely 
Howard  would  hear  her  heart  beat!  To  her  relief  he 
remained  unaware  of  the  storm  of  emotion  which  his 
question  had  aroused.    Half  to  himself  he  muttered  : 

"  Hn.  Then  he  ought  to  be.  What's  the  matter  with 
him?    Anything?" 

Marian  smiled  faintly,  folding  the  letter,  and  keeping 
it  lightly  clasped  in  her  hand. 

"  He  had  been  ill,  you  remember,"  she  said,  in  a  grave 
voice.     "  Isn't  it  a  matter  for  himself?  " 

Howard  frowned.  He  looked  at  his  hands.  His  voice 
was  wholly  changed. 

"You'd  have  thought  so,"  he  admitted.  "At  least, 
at  any  other  time  you'd'  have  thought  so.  Not  now. 
Things  are  too  serious.  He's  probably  got  good  reasons. 
He's  not  the  sort  of  young  fellow  to  shirk,  I  should 
think." 

"  No,"  agreed  Marian.  "  He  doesn't  shirk.  Howard, 
I'm  glad  you  said  that." 


SLOANE  STREET  211 

Howard  said  nothing.  He  looked  at  her  once,  and 
then  got  slowly  up  from  his  chair.  For  a  moment  or 
two  he  stood  about  near  the  table,  as  if  uncertain  what 
to  do.  Finally,  he  was  going  out  of  the  room,  and  checked 
himself  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said.  "  I  met  Tom  Mant  this 
morning.    Have  you  seen  Alice?  " 

"  No."  Marian's  tone  was  almost  wondering,  so  ir- 
relevant did  his  question  seem. 

"  I  asked  them  all  to  dinner  on  Friday.  I  thought  you 
.    .    .   wouldn't  mind." 

He  then  went  slowly  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Marian 
alone  with  her  letter. 


CHAPTER  II:  THE  DANCE 


THAT  same  evening,  when  she  was  sitting  alone  after 
dinner,  there  came  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  Edith,  the 
maid  who  was  always  taken  to  London,  ushered  in  a  gay- 
party  of  six  or  seven  people.  These  were  the  Twelters, 
with  a  couple  of  young  subalterns  attached  to  the  younger 
girl  members  of  the  family.  The  Twelters  were  old 
friends,  in  whose  company  Marian  had  often  spent  hours 
of  superficial  enjoyment.  They  were  people  who  had  no 
idea  in  life  but  the  desire  for  gaiety.  They  danced 
through  the  winter ;  they  attended  regattas  and  race  meet- 
ings ;  they  dropped  their  g's ;  and  in  fact  did  all  that  they 
thought  smart  people  did.  But  theirs  was  not  vicious 
smartness.  The  girls  were  not  rakes,  nor  the  men  cads : 
both  alike  were  merely  silly  and  thoughtless.  To  them 
smartness  was  the  breath  of  life  because  they  had  enough 
money  to  enjoy  it  and  had  not  enough  imagination  to 
support  life  without  constant  excitement.  Marian  found 
their  society  not  at  all  disagreeable ;  but  she  did  not  seek 
it,  and  when  she  had  once  seen  them  had  no  subsequent 
wish  to  renew  an  acute  pleasure.  Anybody  else  would 
have  felt  the  same.  The  Twelters  had  thus  a  floating 
acquaintance,  and  never  noticed  that  their  friends  in  gen- 
eral were  never  the  same  for  two  years  running.  Only 
to  Marian  did  they  cling,  because  they  liked  her  and 
because  she  resembled  themselves  in  no  single  respect. 

The  party,  pouring  into  the  room,  began  talking  in 
laughing  high-pitched  voices.  As  every  member  of  the 
Twelter  family  might  (behind  a  cloth)  have  been  mis- 

212 


THE  DANCE  213 

taken  for  any  other  member,  it  was  always  impossible  to 
distinguish  the  speakers,  or  their  ages,  or  their  sex. 
They  all  talked  at  once,  all  said  the  same  things,  all 
laughed  very  much  at  nothing,  and  all  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  being  pleasant,  brainless,  pleasure-loving,  almost- 
human  creatures. 

"  It's  too  bad  of  us  to  burst  in  on  you  .  .  .  How 
are  you,  Marian?  .  .  .  Come  on  you  two  boys  .  .  . 
Marian,  this  is  Pip  and  this  is  Clem:  you  know  them 
apart  because  Pip's  got  white  eyelashes  and  Clem's  got 
six  hairs  each  side  of  his  upper  lip  .  .  .  How  are  you, 
Marian?  Isn't  the  war  .  .  .  Having  a  rippin'  time. 
So  glad  to  see  you  .  .  .  Don't  take  any  notice  of  her, 
Marian:  how  d'you  like  my  little  frock?  .  .  .  It's  not. 
Marian,  is  it  too?  ..."  The  noisy  burble  went  on, 
until  at  last  Marian  could  not  bear  the  ordeal  any  longer. 
She  quelled  them  all.     She  said : 

"  And  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?  I  see  you're  all 
going  on  somewhere.  Phyllis,  you'd  better  be  spokes- 
man !  " 

Phyllis  squared  her  shoulders  in  a  burlesque  way,  and 
with  a  mechanical  gesture  adjusted  the  ribbon  that 
crossed  her  shoulder.  Marian  instinctively  compared  her 
slimness  with  the  native  grace  of  Cherry,  with  whom 
Phyllis  was  exactly  contemporary;  and  Cherry  shone 
brightened  in  her  memory. 

"  We're  going  on  to  a  dance,  Marian.  These  boys  are 
keen  to  go.  It's  quite  a  small  one.  At  the  Waggers — 
the  Wagstaffs,  you  know.  You  can  come  away  whenever 
you  like.  Begins  at  ten.  Do  come,  there's  a  dear.  It'll 
be  lots  o'  fun." 

"  Oh,  but  my  dear  ..."  She  was  interrupted  by 
general  expostulation. 

"Must  come.  Got  to  come.  Must  come!"  cried 
everybody,  including  the  subalterns,  who  were  very  much 


214  SEPTEMBER 

at  home  in  the  group,  but  who  sported  under  their 
sprightliness  a  university  manner  of  cultivated  languor. 
Marian  surveyed  the  laughing,  empty  faces. 

"  But  what  about  bed !  "  she  cried,  laughing. 

"  Come  and  have  a  damn'  good  time !  "  said  Phyllis, 
amid  laughter  at  any  suggestion  so  naive.  "  Be  a  sport, 
Marian." 

"  'Member  there's  a  war  on ! "  cried  one  of  the  other 
girls.     "  Business  as  usual." 

"  Be  matey!  "  added  a  young  male  Twelter.  "We'll 
look  after  you!  " 

Why,  he  couldn't  be  much  older  than  Robert !  Marian 
thought.  Yet  his  face  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  glowing 
like  wine,  and  there  was  a  general  daredevil  look  upon 
him  that  betokened  headlong  recklessness  and  the  em- 
bryonic viveur. 

"  You  must!  "  they  shouted. 

'  What  a  rowdy  lot  you  are !  "  protested  Marian. 

'  We'll  paint  the  Waggers  bright  red,"  promised  Phyl- 
lis.   "  It'll  be  great  sport !    Come  on,  Marian." 

Allured,  it  may  be,  by  such  a  promise,  or  hopeless  of 
making  any  impression  upon  such  exuberance  by  means 
other  than  rudeness,  Marian  gave  in.  She  gave  one  swift 
glance  round  at  their  faces,  and  went  away  to  find  a  cloak. 
The  party  gave  a  cheer.  It  disconcerted  Marian  to  find 
such  noisy,  boisterous  people  (for  the  elder  Twelters 
were  almost  her  own  contemporaries,  and  yet  were  as 
bright  as  the  others) ;  and  even  when  she  was  looking  for 
the  cloak  she  hesitated  further.  She  did  not  really  want 
to  go.    Later,  she  was  to  wish  that  she  had  not  gone. 

ii 

They  all  piled  into  a  big  car,  built  to  hold  six,  and 
capable  of  holding  them  all.  The  subalterns  were  full 
of  languorous  vivacity;  the  Twelters  all  talked  at  once. 


THE  DANCE  215 

The  girls  on  each  side  of  Marian  put  their  arms  round 
her.  She  felt  their  bare  shoulders  against  her  own,  and 
their  soft,  warm  bodies,  and  the  scent  they  used.  Deaf- 
ened bv  the  chatter,  she  could  hear  no  coherent  sounds  or 
sentences,  and  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  smiling,  but 
far  away  from  them  in  spirit.  She  had  really  nothing 
to  do  with  such  unreal  people.  They  had  no  life.  They 
were  like  frantically-dancing  may-flies,  leaping  and 
swooping  in  the  air  in  their  brief  fandango  of  death. 
How  could  she  enjoy  their  life?  How  could  she  know 
them,  when  they  were  all  there  before  her?  Marian 
shrugged  a  little,  and  the  two  girls  held  her  more  tightly. 
The  car  raced  through  the  darkened  streets.  She  caught 
small  splashes  of  light  through  the  windows,  and  a  growl 
of  traffic.  And  in  the  heat  and  noise  of  the  car  she  sighed 
from  sheer  physical  exhaustion  at  so  much  ferocious 
madcap  excitement. 

What  wit?  Marian  asked  herself.  Why  do  they  do 
it?  I  couldn't  stand  it  for  a  month;  yet  they,  because 
they're  inured  to  it,  can't  live  without  this  wild  shouting 
and  folly ;  without  spending  more  and  more  money  to  no 
purpose;  without  feverishly  exciting  themselves  every 
day.  They  don't  absorb  it :  it  doesn't  nourish  them  at  all. 
No  wonder  they'll  be  bored  when  their  animal  spirits 
flag.  The  doses  of  excitement  will  have  to  be  stronger 
and  stronger.  They'll  find  they  must  have  stimulant.  It 
will  be  first  of  all  this,  carried  to  its  farthest  pitch;  then 
shallow  affairs  for  excitement,  and  a  lot  of  trumpery 
intrigue  and  unhappiness.  Then  they'll  eat  and  drink  too 
much,  and  smoke  too  much,  and  lose  their  spirits.  Then 
it  will  be,  perhaps,  drugs.  And  what's  the  use  ?  They're 
quite  innocent  people  to  begin  with :  they  only  get  vicious 
from  being  exhausted  and  neurotic!  Again  Marian 
shrugged.  She  had  been  thinking,  as  though  she  were 
surveying  a  microcosm,  simply  because  she  could  not  be 


216  SEPTEMBER 

personally  of  the  party.  She  could  not  enter  into  the  rest- 
lessness that  drove  them  to  semi-articulate  speech  and 
slang,  without  intelligible  thoughts,  but  with  only  the 
gabble  of  their  kind.  And  in  spite  of  that,  she  liked  the 
children,  and  thought  they  were  simple  in  their  outlook 
upon  things  in  general — at  bottom  better  than  they  would 
ever  become  in  this  incessant  scramble  for  distraction. 


in 


Her  mood  persisted  when  they  had  reached  the  house 
of  the  Wagstaffs.  There  the  rooms  were  all  brilliant  with 
lights  and  pretty  dresses,  and  to  grotesque  and  syncopated 
music  couples  were  twisting  themselves  into  ungraceful 
attitudes.  As  soon  as  Marian  went  into  the  room  where 
the  dancing  was  in  progress  she  had  a  little  shock.  Those 
closely-clasped  humans  were  all  absorbed  watching  their 
own  steps!  However  sensual  the  dancing  might  be  in 
essence,  the  physical  contacts  were  the  merest  reward  for 
pertinacious  endeavour  to  dance  correctly.  Marian 
watched  the  laborious  feet  pushing  their  way  about  the 
floor;  and  she  thought  the  exhibition  deplorable.  Only 
one  in  a  dozen  of  the  people  there  had  the  least  notion 
of  dancing,  or  the  real  dancing  temperament.  All  the 
rest  were  performing  evolutions. 

"  Really,"  thought  Marian,  suddenly  awake.  "  I've 
come  out  in  a  thoroughly  nasty  and  censorious  mood. 
Oh,  what  ugly  music!  Or  is  it  so  ugly,  after  all?  It's 
got  a  sort  of  ugly  fascination.  I  don't  think  I  like  it; 
but  I  think  I  might  abandon  myself  to  a  base  taste 
for  it!" 

Her  party  had  left  her,  after  numerous  entreaties  that 
she  would  join  the  dance.  Arms  were  raised,  hands 
taken,  waists  pressed ;  and  the  Twelters  joined  the  solemn 
struggle  with  the  slippery  floor.  Marian  at  first  could 
hardly  stifle  a  laugh.    Then  she  felt  sad.    In  France  men 


THE  DANCE  217 

were  being  killed.  On  the  sea  and  in  the  mines  they 
were  running  unspeakable  risks  in  unspeakable  conditions. 
And  these  bodies,  sprawling  together,  and  making  futile 
passes  with  clumsy  feet,  were  passing  the  time  in  a  sort 
of  petrified  attentiveness  as  far  as  possible  from  the  de- 
light of  the  real  dancer.  If  dancing  be  in  the  blood,  as 
it  was  in  Marian's  blood,  it  is  an  impulse  both  natural 
and  beautiful.  The  young  people  before  her  were  as 
ready  to  dance  as  were  the  clods  of  earth  at  Hippeswell. 
There  was  in  their  bodies  none  of  the  sapling  swaying  of 
the  true-born  dancer.    Marian  thought — of  Cherry. 

How  different  Cherry's  dancing  would  be  from  the 
uninspired  gymnastic  of  this  evening!  Marian  could  see 
Cherry  in  her  mind's  eye  as  graceful  as  a  young  tree 
before  the  wind,  as  full  of  spirit  and  litheness  as  a  kitten 
prancing  in  the  sun.  Instinctively  she  realised  that 
Cherry  would  love  dancing  for  its  own  sake ;  not  for  its 
skating  intricacies  or  its  crude  stimulation  of  physical 
desire.  She  wished  Cherry  could  have  been  there.  She 
remembered  her  small  disquisition  upon  dancing,  and 
pride  in  her  own  skill.  She  would  be  different.  She 
was  essentially  different  from  this  painfully  scraping  crew 
of  zig-zaggers.  By  an  inspiration,  Marian  found  her 
knowledge  of  Cherry  illumined.  She  knew  that  she 
would  be  delighted  to  see  her  again.  She  was  eager  for 
the  meeting  on  Friday. 

iv 

Presently  Marian  found  a  seat;  but  she  no  longer 
watched  the  dancing.  Her  mind  had  gone  right  away. 
She  was  seeing  in  a  vision  all  the  suffering  which  a  great 
war  would  cause;  and  contrasting  it  bitterly  with  the 
scene  that  strained  her  eyes  at  this  moment.  She  was 
resentful  of  the  stupidity  in  mankind  that  could  let  enor- 
mous masses  of  people  become  imbued  with  the  desire 


218  SEPTEMBER 

to  kill  each  other,  that  set  so  little  value  upon  reality  as 
to  permit  this  incongruous  pseudo-calisthenic  exercise 
take  the  place  of  real  endeavour.  She  had  contempt  for 
human  kind.  It  was  given  over  to  false  gods.  How 
much  better  were  wise  people  than  silly  people !  Marian 
became  coldly  arrogant.  She  tried  to  remember  a  phrase 
from  Plato's  "  Republic  "  that  had  pleased  her  when  she 
read  it.  Something  about  the  greatest  good.  What  was 
it  ?  Had  she  but  known,  this  was  the  keystone  of  her  own 
attitude  to  life.  That  is  to  say,  she  had  unconsciously, 
long  ago,  adopted  it  as  a  justification  of  her  own  tem- 
perament. The  words  suddenly  flashed  into  her  mind, 
and  she  was  tranquillised.  The  chief  good  is  supposed  by 
the  majority  to  be  pleasure.  By  the  wise  it  is  known  to 
be  insight. 

It  was  insight  that  Marian  craved.  She  incessantly 
sought  it.  She  may  have  been  a  dull  woman,  a  woman 
remote  from  the  pursuit  of  ordinary  pleasures;  but  at 
least  she  had  this  single  ideal.  And  in  a  world  given  over 
to  war  and  imbecility  she  knew  that,  however  corrosive 
her  mind  might  be,  her  ideal  at  least  was  deliberate  and 
constructive.  She  desired  nothing  but  the  improvement 
of  the  world.  She  could  accept  nothing  less  than  the 
disinterested  pursuit  of  clear  and  noble  ends.  All  else 
seemed  to  her  to  be  dust  and  ashes. 


At  last  there  came  a  moment  in  the  barren  revelry  when 
the  room  began  to  empty.  The  Twelters  came  in  a  body 
to  Marian's  side,  hot  and  flushed,  with  a  kind  of  frenzy 
in  their  eyes,  as  though  the  fury  with  which  they  had 
assiduously  performed  every  necessary  step  had  reduced 
them  to  maniacal  exhaustion.  They  rushed  her  into  the 
supper-room,  which  was  a  wild  helter-skelter  of  noise  and 
clatter.     People  were  talking  and  laughing  with  silly 


THE  DANCE  219 

frenzy.  Corks  were  popping,  knives  and  forks  knocking 
against  dishes.  Everything  was  hot  and  fervid.  Cool 
drinks,  iced  cakes,  cold  meats,  were  shovelled  upon  the 
dancers  with  the  same  hectic  irresponsibility.  The 
Twelte  s  were  all  at  one  table,  crushed  close  in  that  sar- 
dinelike madness  that  is  inseparable  from  every  such 
revel.  They  were  glitteringly,  idiotically  noisy  and  chat- 
tering. Their  table  was  but  one  of  many.  Its  occupants 
bawled  to  make  themselves  heard  by  one  another. 

"  What  a  crew !  "  thought  Marian,  with  distaste.  She 
could  not  see  her  own  face,  which  was  pale  with  tiredness. 
To  her  this  was  all  merely  orgiastic  and  distasteful. 
Quite  definitely,  this  was  distasteful  to  her. 

And  then,  she  became  aware  that  the  next  table  was 
even  more  rowdy  than  her  own.  Young  men  in  uniform 
or  evening  dress  were  boisterously  laughing,  drinking, 
talking.  Girls  were  smoking  through  the  meal,  puffing 
even  between  spoonfuls  of  ice,  their  legs  curling  round 
chairs,  their  arms  sprawling  upon  the  table,  their  dresses 
cut  low,  their  draperies  thin,  their  faces  distorted  with 
imbecile  glee.  All  were  drunk  with  the  noise  and  excite- 
ment. Above  the  din  rose  an  ugly  cracked  little  laugh 
that  was  not  happy,  that  was  excited  but  not  merry,  a 
strange  discordance.  The  occupants  of  the  next  table 
were  having  in  excelsis  what  the  Twelters  would  have 
called  a  damn'  good  time.  That  laugh  jarred  upon 
Marian  as  nothing  had  yet  done.  Passionately,  she 
sought  the  laugher,  pitying  her,  feeling  sorry  that  any- 
body so  young  should  have  such  a  silly  enjoyment  of 
rowdiness  for  its  own  sake.  The  young  men  were  idiotic; 
the  girls  were  boisterous  and  stupid.  And  the  laugher 
sat  with  her  back  to  Marian,  her  pretty  neck  showing  like 
the  stem  of  some  lovely  flower.  Marian's  heart  was 
chilled. 

All  at  once,  moved  by  some  instinct,  perhaps,  that  she 


220  SEPTEMBER 

was  being  watched,  the  laugher  turned  round  and  met 
Marian's  grave  eyes,  that  were  like  steel  in  their  penetra- 
tion.   It  was  Cherry. 

vi 

For  a  moment,  and  a  moment  only,  Cherry  and  Marian 
continued  to  gaze  at  one  another  with  a  kind  of  horror. 
To  both  the  rencontre  was  unpleasant.  To  Marian  it  was 
the  greatest  shock  she  could  have  had.  She  had  all  the 
evening  been  thinking  with  delight  of  the  difference  of 
Cherry  from  all  those  whose  antics  had  been  so  contrary 
to  her  ideas  of  what  was  good  and  desirable  in  a  world 
desolated  by  violence  and  anarchy.  And  she  found 
Cherry  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly,  a  part  of  it,  as  ex- 
cited and  unthinking  as  any  of  its  members.  She  stared 
bitterly  at  the  flushed  face  before  her,  which  had  become 
so  focused  that  it  stood  out  from  all  the  others.  Each 
instant  Cherry  grew  redder.  She  was  like  a  child  dis- 
covered in  a  fault.  Every  sensitiveness  within  her  rose 
to  this  accusing  glance.  Rebellion  appeared  in  her,  hot 
and  flaming.  Then  it  died.  She  quickly  left  her  chair 
and  came  to  Marian's  side. 

"Hullo!"  she  said,  in  a  greeting  which  she  strove 
vainly  to  make  natural.  She  pressed  close  to  Marian, 
who  rose,  still  holding  her  hand. 

"Cherry!"  she  murmured,  trying  to  nullify  the  re- 
proach of  her  eyes  and  tone  by  a  little  pressure  of  the 
clinging  ringers. 

The  noisy  Twelters  all  watched,  their  voices  dying. 
Then  they  resumed.  Cherry's  companions,  after  first  di- 
recting their  hot  faces  towards  Marian,  fell  back  to  their 
old  chatter.  And  so  Marian  and  Cherry,  standing  soli- 
tary, were  unobserved.  Marian  seemed  to  feel  her  anger 
evaporate.    Pleadingly,  Cherry  whispered  : 

"  Marian,  come  somewhere  away  from  here   ..." 


THE  DANCE  221 

"Your  friends?"    Marian  also  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"  They  won't  notice.  I'm  tired.  I'll  tell  them  I'm 
going." 

"  But  my  dear,  you  can't  leave  them  ..."  Marian 
was  expostulatory,  not  in  rebuke,  but  in  considerateness. 
She  saw  again  that  flash  of  hard  selfishness  in  Cherry, 
that  blind  hatred  of  any  restraint  upon  her  inclination. 

"  I  can.  I  must.  Marian  .  .  .  they're  nothing  to 
me. 

Her  words  were  very  low,  but  in  their  self-defence  they 
were  earnest.  She  took  Marian's  arm  for  an  instant. 
Then  she  darted  back  to  the  other  table,  gave  her  decision, 
left  her  friends  staring,  and  was  back  again  beside 
Marian,  who  had  by  that  time  explained  matters  to  the 
Twelter  group.  Their  outcry  was  subdued  instantly. 
They  all  nodded  and  smiled  with  cheerful  acceptance  of 
such  summary  conduct.  Thus  were  Cherry  and  Marian 
enabled  to  leave  the  hot,  dazzling  supper-room  together. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  "  Marian  asked. 

"  Let's  go  out.  Let's  go  home !  We  can  walk.  It's 
not  far.  Oh,  Marian,  do!"  Cherry  spoke  desperately. 
They  exchanged  a  quick  glance,  that  lasted  for  a  per- 
ceptible time.  Under  that  pleading  appeal,  and  the  eager 
pressure  of  the  young  body  to  her  side,  Marian  gave  way. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  Cherry's  need  of  help  or  of  forgive- 
ness— was  urgent.    She  nodded. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  We'll  go.  We'll  get  our 
cloaks." 

Her  arm  was  held  for  an  instant  in  gratitude;  then, 
released,  it  fell  gently  back,  and  they  crossed  the  almost 
deserted  dancing-room  together. 


CHAPTER  III:  THE  WALK 


WITHIN  five  minutes  they  were  out  of  the  house, 
and  in  the  dark  streets.  Above  them  the  sky  was 
hidden  by  clouds,  which  made  it  at  first  difficult  to  see  a 
pathway  into  the  blackness.  Closely  linked,  they  walked 
together  at  a  rapid  pace ;  and  Cherry  gave  little  convulsive 
jerks  at  Marian's  arm.  Presently,  in  a  muffled  voice,  she 
spoke. 

"  I  know  you  think  I'm  a  beast,"  she  said.  "  I  am. 
And  yet  I'm  not." 

"  I  hated  that,"  Marian  said,  equally  confessing. 
"  That  place." 

"  So  did  I.  I  don't  really  like  it.  I  don't."  When 
Marian  did  not  answer,  because  she  could  not  truthfully 
and  unwoundingly  do  so,  Cherry  went  on,  her  voice 
harder;  "  I  see.    You  think  I  do." 

"  I  thought  you  seemed  to,"  ventured  Marian. 

"  I  know.  Oh,  what  can  I  do !  "  Her  arm  grew  limp. 
There  was  dejection  in  her  voice.  "  I  do  like  it.  And  yet 
directly  I  saw  you  I  knew  I  didn't  really  like  it.  I 
couldn't  bear  your  .  .  .  your  seeing  me  there.  I'm  not 
ashamed — yes  I  am,  though.  I  am  ashamed.  I  don't 
know  why,  or  what  of.  To-morrow  I  shall  ...  I 
expect  I  shall  resent  it,  and  go  back  to  it  because  I  .  .  . 
Marian,  you  understand  me." 

"  Cherry,  dear.    If  I  say  I  do,  and  then  show  I  don't." 

"  But  you  do." 

"  I  want  to.  Why  haven't  you  written  to  me?  Have 
you  been  wretched  ?  " 

222 


THE  WALK  223 

"  Oh  no.    Not  at  all.    It  was  just  seeing  you !  " 

Marian  gave  a  small  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Wh  t  a  wet  blanket  I  must  be !  "  she  cried. 

"  You're  not !  "  It  was  affectionate,  defensive.  All 
Cherry's  candour  was  aroused.  "  It's  not  that  at  all. 
Though  I  do  mind  what  you  think  of  me.  Marian,  it's 
no  good  talking  to  me  about  myself — I  mean,  no  good 
telling  me  what  I  ought  to  do.  I'm  incorrigible.  Mother 
says  I'm  "  out  of  hand."  I  am.  But  I  really  can  look 
out  of  myself.  I'm  not  so  silly  as  to  think  a  thing  like 
this  is — good.     But  I  like  it." 

The  violent  contradictions  of  this  speech  were  a  key 
to  the  perplexities  which  Marian  had  in  her  own  mind 
to  encounter  and  reconcile. 

"I'm  so  afraid  of  making  you  think  me  ..."  If 
Cherry  had  been  affected  by  Marian,  and  afraid  of 
Marian's  misinterpretation  of  her  nature,  was  it  not 
strange  that  Marian  should  feel  a  corresponding  fear? 
She  resumed,  hastily :  "  Well,  I  was  horror-struck  at  see- 
ing you  so  rowdy.  I  didn't  like  it.  That's  everything. 
I'm  not  going  to  scold  you,  because  that  would  be  idiotic. 
But  I  wish  all  sorts  of  things,  and  I  like  you  best  when 
you're  as  you  are  now.  That's  the  way  I  like  to  think 
of  you.  My  dear,  I  think  you  so  much  better  than  those 
idiotic  people,  breathlessly  watching  their  steps  and 
sprawling  in  each  other's  arms." 

Cherry  was  quite  silent.  Marian  could  not  perceive 
whether  she  was  moved  and  understanding,  or  merely 
rebellious  at  such  questioning  of  her  own  conduct.  They 
walked  for  some  way  without  further  speech.  Then 
Cherry,  perhaps  unable  to  bear  any  feeling  of  distance, 
said  in  a  tone  of  confidence : 

"  Yes.  I  am  better  than  them.  In  some  ways.  I'm 
very  like  them." 

"  The  truth  is,"  Marian  whispered  in  her  ear,  half- 


224  SEPTEMBER 

laughing,  but  not  unmoved,  "  the  truth  is  that  you  ought 
to  be  well-shaken,  you  know !  " 

ii 

To  herself,  she  was  saying,  almost  with  indignation: 
"  The  idea!  The  idea!  "  But  Cherry  invited  love;  and 
that,  together  with  a  perception  of  her  genuine  quality, 
must  be  Marian's  defence.  She  spoke  again  presently, 
ignoring  their  previous  talk. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  lately?  " 

The  reply  was  listless,  as  though  it  was  given  with 
a  sort  of  shrugging. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Playing  about,  mostly.  That's  the 
sort  of  girl  I  am." 

"  An  egoist,"  thought  Marian.  But  she  did  not  say 
the  words  aloud.  Instead  she  said :  "  Don't  you  think 
you  make  the  worst  of  yourself  ?  Or  at  least,  make  your- 
self out  rather  worse  than  you  are?  " 

"  D'you  think  I  do?"  Again  that  listless  tone. 
"  Marian,  I'm  so  tired." 

"  At  twenty-two.  I'm  thirty-eight.  Don't  you  think 
I  ought  to  be  tired  ?  " 

"  No,"  came  the  surprising  answer.  "  I'm  not  a  bit 
sorry  for  you  really." 

"  You  want  me  to  be  sorry  for  you." 

"  No,  I  don't !  "  came  the  quick  response.  "  Not  at  all. 
What's  being  sorry !  Being  contemptuous !  I  only  want 
you  to  understand  me.  People  don't  do  that.  It's  such 
a  rare  thing.  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
I'm  such  a  mixture  of  things,  that  sometimes  I  feel  almost 
mad.    And  then,  when  I  think  of  you  so  indifferent  .  .  ." 

"  So  indifferent !  "  Marian  could  not  repress  her  inter- 
ruption. 

"  So  apart  from  anything.  ...  Of  course  you're 
not.     And  I  know  you're  not.     We  only  go  back  to  the 


THE  WALK  225 

old  attempt  to  define  things  we  can't  define.  I'm  too  tired 
to  think  properly.  I've  been  dancing  every  night  this 
week." 

"  I  see,"  said  Marian,  with  a  frown.  Her  head  jerked 
in  impatience.  Here  was  this  little  idiot  wasting  evening 
after  evening  in  this  imbecile  pastime,  liking  to  do  it, 
quickly  sensitive  to  any  suggestion  that  it  was  folly. 
With  brains  enough  to  see  that  there  were  other  goods, 
she  had  not  sufficient  will  to  divorce  herself  from  this  one, 
or  to  take  it  in  moderation.  She  could  never  attain  peace 
of  soul  because  some  vicious  impulse  in  her  drove  out  all 
other  inclinations.  Instead,  having  indulged  her  craving 
for  excitement,  she  was  enjoying  now  the  neurotic  and 
hysterical  pleasure  of  subsequent  self -demolition.  That 
way  was  the  way  taken  by  drunkards,  drug-takers,  and 
religieuses.  It  was  intolerable  as  a  kind  of  conduct.  In- 
dignation for  a  time  clouded  Marian's  mind.  Resolutely, 
she  put  from  her  this  matter,  intent  only  on  leaving 
Cherry  at  her  own  home. 

"  You're  coming  to  see  us  on  Friday,"  she  said. 
"  You're  all  coming  to  dinner.     That  will  be  very  nice." 

As  if  she  had  not  noticed  the  iron  in  Marian's  face, 
Cherry  subsided  into  naturalness. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Lovely.  I've  never  been  to 
your  flat.  I've  wanted  to  come.  You've  been  in  it  some 
days,  haven't  you  ?    Mother  had  a  letter." 

"  Which  she  didn't  answer !  "  laughed  Marian.  "  I 
shall  lecture  her  for  that !  " 

Cherry  seemed  surprised. 

"  Oh,"  she  said.  "  How  did  you  know  we  were  com- 
ing, then  ?  " 

Marian's  heart  gave  a  jerk.  The  speech  was  a  signifi- 
cant one.  If  Cherry  had  been  dancing  a  great  deal,  and 
if  she  thought  the  invitation  had  come  to  her  mother, 
and  been  accepted  by  her,  did  not  that  indicate  that  she 


226  SEPTEMBER 

had  not  seen  Howard?  Was  the  affair  then  over?  The 
thought  flushed  Marian,  and  instantly  restored  her  con- 
fidence in  Cherry.  She  could  be  firm,  it  appeared.  That 
was  something!    Nay,  it  was  everything. 

iii 

It  was  everything,  because  it  showed  Cherry  in  the  last 
resort  mistress  of  herself.  The  sense  of  responsibility 
which  Marian  had  for  her  was  reassured.  If  Cherry 
could  break,  then  whatever  her  follies  she  would  never, 
in  the  expressive  phrase  of  the  streets,  "  come  a  mucker." 
She  really  loved  good,  and  her  love  of  base  experience 
was  simply  due  to  curiosity  and  vanity.  Immediately, 
Marian  was  her  friend  again.  She  no  longer  hurried. 
Their  common  mood  was  once  again  cordial.  Marian 
wondered  if  Cherry  ever  guessed  at  the  things  that  were 
not  said  between  them.  She  thought  that  if  Cherry  knew 
what  sometimes  passed  in  her  mind  there  might  be — 
what?  An  upheaval?  Yes,  but  only  a  temporary  one. 
She  knew  that  there  is  an  instinct  in  human  creatures  to 
recover  equilibrium;  and  in  Cherry's  case  she  knew  that 
there  would  always  be  an  easy  way.  That  way  would  at 
the  lowest  be  distraction ;  at  the  most  poignant  the  finally 
inevitable  self-justification  which  would  throw  any  critic 
into  a  limbo  of  inferiority. 

As  they  walked,  their  minds  cleared.  They  began  to 
look  about  them,  observing  little  specks  of  light,  and 
stationary  or  moving  vehicles,  and  passing  pedestrians. 
They  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  but  directed  bright 
eyes  into  the  gloom.  At  last  they  approached  Cherry's 
home,  which  was  in  a  square  off  the  High  Road,  Chelsea. 

"  You'll  come  in,"  the  girl  begged. 

"  It's  one  o'clock,"  Marian  said.  "  How  dreadful !  I 
must  hurry  back.    I  didn't  realise  how  late  it  was." 

"  D'you   call    it    late?"    Cherry    said,    rather    sadly. 


THE  WALK  227 

Marian  checked  her  first  impulse  to  reply  teasingly.  She 
knew  that  it  would  be  inopportune,  for  Cherry  was  in  a 
serious  and  reflective  mood,  little  adapted  to  the  compli- 
ment of  badinage. 

"  Remember,"  she  murmured  instead,  "  I'm  just  up 
from  the  ten-o'clock  country.  In  another  few  weeks  I 
shall  be  used  to  London  hours." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  in  the  country,"  Cherry  said,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  The  winds  will  be  getting  strong;  and  the  leaves  com- 
ing down.  Horribly  autumnal.  You  don't  really  like  the 
late  summer,  Cherry." 

"  I  don't  mind  it.     Do  you?" 

Marian  felt  her  breath  catch. 

"  I  do,  rather,"  she  answered.  "  I  think  it  makes  me 
feel  .  .  .  perhaps  as  if  I  were  not  quite  as  fresh  as  I 
used  to  be." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  All  the  same,  I'd  like  to  be  in  the  country,"  Cherry 
said.  "  And  with  you.  Would  you  like  me  to  be  with 
you?" 

"  Very  much.    But  I  wonder  how  long  you'd  stand  it." 

Marian  could  not  refrain  from  that  dry  speech;  but 
she  was  sorry  as  soon  as  it  was  made.  It  sent  Cherry 
thoughtfully  indoors. 

iv 

As  she  walked  home,  it  struck  Marian  once  again  that 
the  most  intimate  friends  must  always  be  strangers  to 
each  other.  For  she  could  not  read  Cherry's  heart  so 
long  as  it  was  guarded ;  and  she  could  not  imagine  that 
her  own  was  readable,  since  she  herself  was  unable  to 
understand  its  vagaries.  She  shrugged  a  little.  What 
did  it  matter?  What  did  anything  personal  matter  in 
the  long  run?    And  yet  it  was  the  only  reality  one  knew. 


228  SEPTEMBER 

People  turned  to  outside  things  because  they  had  no  per- 
sonal life.  And  a  personal  life  was  the  richest  treasure 
in  the  world,  enjoyed  only  by  those  in  whose  natures 
there  was  some  stirring  of  poetry.  Marian  pitied  the 
world,  the  workers  and  the  players,  the  sufferers  and  the 
exploiters.  All  of  them  were  helpless  in  the  general 
complex. 

Arrived  back  in  Sloane  Street  she  began  to  hurry.  She 
had  remembered  that  Howard,  on  returning,  might  have 
expected  to  see  her;  that  he  might  be  anxious.  So  she 
ran  the  last  hundred  yards,  and  entered  the  flat  with  her 
key,  feeling  rather  guilty.  True  enough,  she  found 
Howard  waiting  in  the  drawing-room,  walking  nervously 
about,  and  manifestly  relieved  at  her  arrival. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are !  "  he  cried ;  and  with  a  genuine 
impulse  came  forward  and  helped  her  off  with  her  cloak. 
"  I  was  begining  to  think   ..." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  apologised  Marian.  "  I  didn't  mean 
to  be  so  late.  The  Twelters  came  and  took  me  to  a 
dance." 

Howard  was  not  at  all  sulky.  He  was  suddenly 
cheerful. 

:i  Oh,  the  Twelters !  "  he  said.  "  They  never  occurred 
to  me." 

His  relief  was  so  evident  that  Marian  wondered  what 
had  occurred  to  him.  She  gave  a  little  laugh.  It  was 
so  pleasant  to  find  him  concerned  about  her. 

"  I've  been  running,"  she  rather  breathlessly  explained. 
"  What  did  you  think  had  happened  to  me?  " 

Howard's  voice  had  a  strange  note  in  it. 

"  I  couldn't  imagine,"  he  observed.  "  I  only  .  .  . 
You  see  I  didn't  know  where  you  might  have  gone.  And 
it  was  so  late." 

He  was  so  remarkably  attentive  that  Marian  looked 
'at  him  with  a  new  humorous  curiosity.    Why,  Howard 


THE  WALK  229 

was  afraid  of  something.  Of  what  was  he  afraid?  Or 
of  whom  ?  How  nice  that  he  should  be  afraid  of  any- 
thing!   Her  quick  mind  raced  to  possibilities. 

"Didn't  Edith  tell  you  a  party  had  come  for  me?" 
she  asked. 

"No.  I  didn't  ask  her.  I  thought  ...  I 
thought  ..."  Howard  stammered  slightly.  There 
was  quite  a  long  pause.  Then,  carelessly,  as  though  the 
name  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  their  conversation, 
he  asked :  "  Have  you  seen  young  Sinclair  since  you  came 
up?     I  thought  I  saw  him  this  evening  ..." 


CHAPTER  IV:  A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL 


WITH  Howard's  last  words,  Marian  felt  a  quick 
rise  of  emotion  too  hard  to  be  endured  without 
sign.  The  blood  rose  to  her  cheeks.  She  was  stricken 
with  panic.  Impossible  to  tell  if  Howard  noticed  the 
blush :  her  effort  to  conceal  it  left  Marian  no  opportunity 
for  questioning  his  perception.  She  could  only  turn 
away  her  head.  Where  had  he  seen  Nigel?  She  could 
not  ask.  To  have  done  so  would  have  been  to  betray  by 
her  trembling  voice  that  which  she  sought  to  hide.  But 
Howard  had  seen  Nigel,  and  Nigel  had  not  written.  She 
could  think  of  nothing  but  that.  She  could  only  stand 
stupidly  before  Howard,  like  a  child,  and  the  blood  slowly 
receded,  leaving  her  quite  white,  with  unsteady  knees 
and  a  heart  that  seemed  to  burst. 

Where  had  he  seen  Nigel?  Here,  or  at  a  distance? 
Where  could  it  have  been?  With  a  fierce  effort  Marian 
steadied  herself.  She  looked  at  the  clock,  and  away 
again.  With  a  sharp  little  sigh  that  was  meant  to  be  a 
laugh,  she  rounded  upon  Howard. 

"  Goodness,  how  late  it  is !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't 
wonder  you  were  anxious.  It  was  thoughtless  of  me.  I 
shall  go  straight  to  bed." 

She  retreated;  but  Howard  followed  slowly,  and  held 
the  door  open  for  her.  At  last  Marian  could  bear  to  look 
up  into  that  tired  face,  not  less  palpably  tired  because  of 
its  fresh  colour.  Behind  the  red  cheeks  there  was  a 
greyness.  Howard's  eyes  were  the  sternly  intent  eyes 
of  one  in  pain.     But  she  could  not  at  this  moment  seek 

230 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  231 

to  assuage  any  pain  he  might  be  feeling.  Her  own  agita- 
tion was  too  great.  She  looked  no  higher  than  his 
shoulder,  and  stood  veiled  and  mysterious  before  him,  a 
secret  creature  capable  of  baffling  one  much  more  subtle 
than  her  husband.  If  Howard  had  known,  she  was  then 
at  his  mercy,  too  unnerved  to  withstand  a  sudden  ques- 
tion. With  relief  she  fled  from  him,  her  secret  concealed, 
her  unhappiness  known  only  to  her  own  consciousness. 
Marian  felt  like  one  who  runs  in  a  dark  wood  from  its 
fearsome  silences.  She  for  the  first  time  for  many 
months  locked  her  door,  driven  to  the  act  by  panic  un- 
reasoning in  its  rush  for  solitude.  When  she  was  alone, 
and  only  then,  she  felt  safe — safe  from  intrusion,  and 
safe  from  self-betrayal  most  tragic.  Then,  too,  her  ex- 
pression unguarded,  she  could  at  length  be  natural. 
Howard  had  seen  Nigel,  and  it  seemed  that  unless  she 
too  saw  Nigel  she  must  infallibly  go  mad  with  heartsick 
longing. 

ii 

During  the  remainder  of  the  night,  Marian  slept  little. 
Every  now  and  then,  overcome  with  her  wish,  she  could 
not  restrain  the  faint  moan  that  rose  to  her  lips.  If  she 
could  have  been  sure  about  Nigel  she  felt  that  she  could 
have  slept;  but  the  thought  that  perhaps  he  had  come  to 
the  flat  after  she  had  left  it  was  torture.  Perhaps  he  had 
come,  and,  because  she  was  out,  had  gone  away,  disap- 
pointed. He  might  come  no  more.  In  vain  did  Marian 
think  soberly  that  this  might  be  best  for  both  of  them. 
She  was  in  no  mood  for  reasonableness.  It  was  a 
mockery  to  her  desire,  now  too  strong  to  be  kept  within 
bounds.  Repressed  for  so  many  weeks,  it  seemed  to  be 
shrieking  within  her.  She  was  a  sick  woman,  trembling 
with  all  the  passionate  impulses  to  love  and  surrender 
that  beset  her  so  unmercifully.     She  was  hot  and  weak 


232  SEPTEMBER 

and  vehement.  Love  meant  to  her  much  more  than  the 
physical  passion  of  youth.  It  was  an  all-pervading  emo- 
tion, which  had  seized  her  and  driven  away  her  resolute 
defences.  No  longer  was  Marian  the  cool  judge  of  life. 
She  was  a  suffering  woman.  To  her  the  sweet  joys  of 
love  were  denied ;  she  had  only  the  pain.  She  had  never 
known  such  aching  torment. 

Even  when  dawn  was  in  the  room  there  came  no 
release  from  this  agony  of  doubt.  She  lay  still,  facing  the 
window.  Through  the  blinds  she  could  see  the  light  grow 
clearer,  and  the  sun's  first  ray  made  a  brilliant  streak 
upon  the  wall.  Then  it  faded,  as  slow-moving  clouds 
drifted  across  the  sun's  face.  So,  it  seemed,  was  the 
story  of  her  love  for  Nigel.  For  one  day,  or  for  two,  it 
had  been  a  happy,  unconscious  thing,  flaming  unnoticed 
within  her  heart.  Then  had  come  an  awakening,  an 
intoxication;  followed  quickly  by  her  instinctive  motion 
of  concealment,  of  repression.  And  now,  since  the  clouds 
had  come,  it  was  as  though  they  continually  deepened, 
so  that  she  cowered  in  a  world  of  unhappy  frustration. 
She  had  not  even  the  precarious  delight  of  seeing  Nigel, 
of  restraining  him;  or  the  thrilling  sadness  of  watching 
his  love  baulked  and  dying.  She  was  frustrate,  miserable. 
And  Nigel  had  perhaps  come  to  her   .    .    . 

"  O-oh !  "  A  long-drawn  sigh  shook  Marian.  "  What 
an  irony !    And  what  a  mad  fool  I  was  to  deny  my  love !  " 

With  such  frantic  thoughts  did  she  make  admission  of 
her  weakness.  At  this  moment,  in  such  solitude,  Marian 
was  no  less  human  than  other  women.  She  was  in  the 
grip  of  emotion  that  left  her  no  peace  and  no  self-respect. 
Her  brain  was  merely  the  slave  of  her  passionate  im- 
pulses, and  was  powerless  to  check  the  flight  of  her 
desires. 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  233 

iii 

When  it  was  fully  light,  and  when  she  was  up,  Marian 
was  still  shaken;  but  she  was  once  again  miraculously 
herself.  She  was  ready  for  any  emergency,  the  old 
Marian,  able  to  meet  Howard  at  breakfast  and  to  face 
any  scrutiny  that  he  might  subject  her  to.  No  longer 
were  her  nerves  in  tumult.  The  day  had  wrought  a 
change  in  her.  Not  even  she  could  have  explained  it. 
The  matter  was  too  simple.  It  was  pride  alone  that  sus- 
tained her. 

The  breakfast  was  quite  a  gay  meal.  Relieved  of  his 
first  anxiety  about  her,  Howard  was  recovered  from  his 
unwonted  feeling  of  the  previous  night.  Before  her 
calm,  he  grew  more  tranquil.  He,  at  least,  gave  no  sign 
of  having  penetrated  a  secret.  And  Marian,  now  that 
the  vehement  conflict  had  passed,  was  afraid  of  no  dis- 
closure. She  gave  him  a  cheerful  account  of  the  dance, 
describing  with  mimicry  the  invasion  of  the  Twelters 
and  their  packed  journey  to  the  WagstafFs  house.  She 
pictured  the  laborious  foot-scraping  of  the  dancers;  the 
rowdiness  of  the  supper;  her  own  bewildered  disapproval 
of  the  tastelessness  of  the  whole  demonstration.  In 
memory,  the  whole  thing  had  composed,  and  was  once 
again  within  focus.  She  was  perfectly  ironic.  Howard 
laughed  roaringly  at  her  account,  which  made  the  evening 
microcosmic.  He  chuckled  at  everything,  from  her 
selected  snatches  of  the  Twelter  conversation  to  her 
physically-illustrated  burlesque  of  the  dancing  she  had 
witnessed,  from  her  laughing  tale  of  the  supper  to  the 
description  of  her  hurried  run  at  the  end  of  the  revel.  It 
was  all,  to  him,  good  fun;  and  Marian,  seeing  him  so 
amused,  gave  rein  to  her  ironic  gift,  which  reduced  the 
evening  to  absurdity  and  raised  it  to  an  anatomy  of  cur- 
rent social  life. 


234  SEPTEMBER 

"Lord,  lord!"  Howard  ejaculated.  "What  a  crew! 
What  a  crew !  ':  Sobering,  he  continued  :  "  And  to  think 
that  this  sort  of  thing  is  going  on — and  that  it  will  go 
on — when  men  are  being  killed  by  the  thousand.  Thank 
God  the  war  will  be  soon  over.  The  Russians  will  end 
it  by  Christmas." 

"  I  hope  they  will,"  echoed  Marian,  devoutly. 

"  No  question  of  it.  But  I'd  like  some  of  these  young- 
sters to  realise  a  war.  It  would  do  them  all  the  good 
in  the  world." 

"  They  weren't  all  young,  Howard,"  put  in  Marian. 
"  I'd  like  the  old  ones  to  realise  it,  too.  But  that  would 
need  imagination;  and  you  can't  expect  many  people  to 
see  things  truly,  because  they  don't  want  to.  They'll 
never  want  to.  If  the  war  lasted  ten  years,  they'd  never 
know.    Unless  they  were  starving." 

"  Oh,  I  think  they  would,"  he  objected. 

Marian  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  not  human  nature  to  understand  suffering  with- 
out experience,"  she  asserted.  "  Most  people  can't  suffer. 
Perhaps  it's  as  well.    Not  real  suffering." 

"  You  don't  call  love  suffering?  "  Howard  asked. 

Marian  sharply  sighed.     A  heaviness  came  upon  her. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  admitted.  "  I  wonder.  Sometimes 
it's  only  one's  vanity  that  suffers.  If  it  weren't  for 
vanity,  I  wonder  how  many  people  would  think  them- 
selves in  love." 

There  was  a  pause.     Howard  moved  uneasily. 

"  If  you  go  right  back  like  that,"  he  said,  "  you  won't 
leave  us  much,  will  you  ?  " 

They  did  not  continue  that  discussion.  It  came  too 
near  both  of  them,  and  neither  was  in  the  mood  at  this 
moment  to  probe  beyond  superficialities.  Both  wanted 
to  be  cheerful,  and  to  forget  whatever  inner  life  they 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  235 

might  have  been  enduring  while  the  days  passed.     One 
cannot  always  live  at  a  high  pitch  of  emotion. 

The  meal  concluded,  the  two  separated.  Howard  left 
the  flat  for  the  office :  Marian  rose  from  the  table  and 
went  into  the  other  room,  where  she  sat  immovable,  star- 
ing straight  before  her,  and  seeing  nothing.  Only  then 
did  she  realise  that  in  the  whole  of  her  account  of  the 
previous  night's  doings  she  had  never  once  mentioned 
Cherry. 

iv 

When,  presently,  she  moved  about  the  room,  she  saw, 
lying  upon  the  centre  table,  a  large  box  of  cigarettes, 
which  had  contained  a  hundred,  and  from  which  only  a 
few  had  been  taken.  It  gave  her  a  singular  feeling  to 
notice  that  these  were  Tee-to-tum  cigarettes.  The  fact 
took  her  mind  back  to  that  evening  in  June  when  she  had 
first  divined  something  unusual  in  Howard's  state  of 
mind  by  his  reference  to  these  cigarettes.  What  had  he 
called  them  ?  A  silly  name  of  some  sort.  She  could  not 
remember  it.  The  nickname  had  passed  from  her  recol- 
lection. Humming  to  herself,  she  took  one  of  the  ciga- 
rettes and  lighted  it.  Although  they  were  scented,  she 
did  not  dislike  the  flavour,  and  she  stood  smoking  for 
several  minutes,  while  her  active  mind  went  right  away 
and  occupied  itself  with  matters  of  daily  urgency. 

Later,  she  asked  Edith  whether  anybody  besides  the 
Twelters  had  called  on  the  previous  evening.  Nobody 
had  been.  It  was  a  relief;  but  the  inquiry  started  afresh 
that  restless  concern  at  Nigel's  silence.  If  the  Forsters 
had  been  on  the  telephone,  she  would  have  been  disposed 
to  ring  Nigel  up,  and  with  an  assumption  of  ease  to  have 
rallied  him  upon  his  desertion.  But  as  there  was  no  tele- 
phone,  common   circumstances  put   a  check  upon  her 


236  SEPTEMBER 

activity.  She  did  nothing.  There  was  nothing  to  do, 
now,  except  to  wait.  But  waiting  was  hard.  Marian 
went  out,  and  walked  about  the  shopping  district  beyond 
Sloane  Square,  ordering  for  the  day's  meal,  and  buying 
some  flowers  for  the  table.  She  returned  in  an  hour,  feel- 
ing weary  and  unhappy.  The  shops  had  provided  no 
distraction.  Her  mind  had  gone  back  to  its  preoccupa- 
tion, and  she  had  seen  nothing  to  nourish  her  healthier 
interests.  But  her  passion  had  died.  It  had  been  too 
violent  to  last.  She  had  begun  to  accustom  herself  to 
the  thought  that  Nigel  was  not  coming.  Almost,  in  this 
mood  of  exhaustion,  she  hoped  that  he  would  not 
come. 


It  was  at  four  o'clock  that,  as  if  in  answer  to  this 
mood,  she  was  stung  suddenly  into  life  again  by  a  loud 
ring  at  the  door  of  the  flat.  Before  he  was  brought  in, 
she  knew  with  complete  certainty  that  this  was  Nigel. 
Her  knowledge  was  quite  definite.  Her  heart  beat  fast, 
but  not  throbbingly.  It  was  a  little  faint  echo  of  nervous 
tension  within  her  breast.  As  he  entered,  she  was 
wholly  at  ease,  rising  to  greet  him  with  a  sedateness 
that  would  have  deceived  the  vainest  of  men. 

"  How  are  you?  "  Marian  cried.  "  It's  ever  so  nice  to 
see  you  again." 

Even  in  speaking,  she  was  searching  his  face  for  news 
of  his  state  of  mind.  The  face  seemed  to  her  to  be 
thinner,  paler.  He  came  very  quickly  forward,  and,  she 
thought,  shyly.  His  hair  was  cut  shorter ;  his  mouth  was 
more  set. 

"  He's  altered.  He's  altered."  Her  perceptions  were 
instant.  But  she  was  puzzled,  also.  She  knew  that  he  was 
different.  Well,  he  had  been  changed  at  their  last  meet- 
ing.    No,  this  was  something  more.     There  was  some- 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  237 

thing  she  could  not  define.    He  was  altered  in  some  essen- 
tial respect.    Was  it  to  herself  ? 

"  I've  been  so  wretchedly  busy,"  said  Nigel,  standing 
and  smiling,  and  looking  at  her  in  his  shy  way. 

"  Come  and  sit  down.  Of  course  I  knew  you  must  be 
busy.  Howard  thought  he  saw  you  yesterday.  Did  you 
see  him?  " 

"  Your  husband  ?  "  Nigel  was  surprised.  "  No,  I 
didn't  see  him.    Where  was  it?" 

"  I  forgot  to  ask.  Have  you  been  working  all  the 
time?" 

He  appeared  to  flinch  at  that  question.    Why? 

"  No.  No,  not  all  the  time.  I  ought  to  have  been. 
But  I've  been  working  so  hard — it  seems  a  bad  thing  to 
admit — that  I've  simply  had  to  let  myself  rip  a  bit. 
Otherwise,  I  think  I  should  have  gone  off  my  head.  This 
army  business  has  been  troubling  me  a  good  deal." 

"Army  business?"  Marian's  heart  seemed  to  stop 
beating.  Her  tone  was  rough,  almost  peremptory. 
"What  d'youmean?" 

"  Only  what  I  wrote  to  you  about.  Marian,  it's  in 
everybody's  blood.  You  probably  can't  realise  it,  com- 
ing from  the  country." 

Marian  smiled — a  slow,  bitter  smile.  She  didn't 
realise! 

"  No,"  she  said,  gravely.  Well,  there  was  that.  She 
no  longer  heard  his  words.  The  shock  past,  she  was 
scanning  his  features,  still  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the 
change  in  him,  but  more  than  ever  acutely  aware  of  it. 
Nigel  clearly  did  not  recognise  the  change  in  himself. 
Or  was  it  that  he  was  trying  not  to  do  so?  Or  not  to 
let  her  do  so?  It  was  a  poignant  shock  to  her.  She 
withdrew,  her  spirit  as  sensitive  as  a  snail's  horn.  There 
was  something  inexplicable.  Swiftly  her  mind  flew  to 
her  agony  of  the  night.    The  smile  deepened,  and  became 


238  SEPTEMBER 

mechanical.  Her  eyes  were  like  night,  hidden,  inscrut- 
able. She  was  stealthily  watching  him  from  behind  a 
mask.  Strange,  strange  .  .  .  throbbed  her  brain.  No, 
she  didn't  realise. 

"  Since  I  wrote,  I've  been  worrying  more.  It  comes 
and  goes.  The  day's  news  alters  everything — one  day 
shocking,  another  less  tangible.  I  think  everybody's 
suffering  a  great  deal — mentally,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marian.  "  I  expect  they  are,  even  though 
sometimes  they  don't  show  it!  But  that's  no  doubt  be- 
cause it's  mental  suffering." 

Nigel  nodded  in  agreement.  He  put  his  hand  sharply 
to  his  face  in  a  gesture  of  perplexity.  Had  he  then 
caught  the  uncontrollable  dryness  of  her  tone? 

Tea  was  brought  in  before  they  spoke  again;  and  they 
sat  nearer  the  small  fire.  Although  the  weather  was  still 
not  cold,  there  was  a  fluctuating  chill  in  the  air  which 
made  a  fire  welcome.    And  there  were  hot  scones  for  tea. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  reason  that  you  are  worrying 
about  your  own  position  is  that  you're  not  well?  "  Marian 
presently  asked.  "  I  mean,  that  you're  thinking  about 
yourself  in  a  state  of  low  vitality?  Nothing's  more  de- 
pressing than  that." 

"  That's  quite  true.  But  it  isn't  that,  at  all.  I'm  very 
dissatisfied  with  myself  .  .  .  about  other  things."  He 
looked  quickly  at  her,  and  away.  She  caught  every 
movement  of  his  head  and  his  hands,  though  her  eyes 
were  not  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Marian,  quite  without  expression. 

"  It's  no  good  refusing  to  recognise  the  war.  A 
number  of  people  are  doing  that.  They're  pretending  it's 
no  concern  of  theirs.  You  can't  take  that  purely  external 
view.    You  ought  either  to  join  in,  or  try  to  stop  it." 

"  You're  speaking  as  a  man?  "  she  asked. 

"  Purely.    I've  been  taken  unprepared.    I  wasn't  ready 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  239 

for  it.  I'm  indignant  and  bewildered  and  rebellious. 
It  seems  to  me  that  as  we've  got  beyond  duelling  we 
ought  to  have  got  beyond  war.  Well,  it  seems  we  haven't. 
Most  of  the  men  I  know  have  gone  into  the  army.  I 
don't  know  what  they've  said  to  themselves.  They've 
gone.  I  think  most  women  are  urging  their  men  to  go 
into  the  army — they  like  uniform,  they're  frightened 
.  .  .  perhaps  other  causes  operate.  They  may  be  the 
clear-sighted  veterans  they  pretend  to  be.  All  the  girls 
are  for  the  war  and  the  army." 

"  Are  they?  "    Marian  did  not  question. 

"  The  only  girl  I've  discussed  it  with  was  perfectly 
clear  that  I  ought  to  go  in." 

"  You  allow  a  girl  to  persuade  you  ?  " 

'  No.    But  you  see  what  a  point  I've  reached,  Marian." 

Marian  restrained  a  sigh.  Her  face  was  perfectly 
grave. 

*  I'm  afraid  I  do,"  she  said,  soberly.  "  Have  you  liad 
enough  tea?  There  are  some  cigarettes  behind  you  on 
that  table." 

Nigel  turned  round,  and  brought  the  box  of  ciga- 
rettes to  their  table.  As  he  held  it  out  to  her  he  looked 
at  the  design  upon  it. 

"  Hullo !  "  he  cried,  in  a  puzzled  way.  "  Do  you 
smoke  old  Two-toed-twins?  " 

Marian's  hand  was  arrested  in  mid-air.  She  was 
robbed  of  composure  for  an  instant.  The  room  seemed 
to  whirl  about  her. 


VI 

They  continued  to  talk,  but  as  strangers.  Her  heart 
had  closed  with  a  snap.  She  looked  at  him  with  staring 
eyes  of  bewilderment.  And  her  heart  went  pounding 
on  while  her  brain  revolved  around  the  problem  of  that 


240  SEPTEMBER 

foolish  nickname.  She  could  not  ask  him  the  obvious 
question — "  Where  did  you  learn  that  name  for  these 
cigarettes?  "  The  moment  was  past  for  any  such  inquiry 
before  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  her  shock. 
What  did  it  mean?  Her  one  desire  now  was  that  he 
should  leave  her.    Marian  was  desperate. 

"  You  must  come  to  see  me  again,"  she  said,  in  a 
steady  voice.  "I  have  to  go  out  this  afternoon;  so  I 
can't  ask  you  to  stay.  There  must  be  a  lot  of  things  for 
us  to  talk  about.  But  not  now."  Nigel  rose  at  once. 
"  Don't  let  yourself  be  influenced  by  anything  but  your 
own  judgment  in  this  matter  of  the  army.  It's  your 
own  business  entirely." 

"  So  I  feel.  But  I  can't  help  being  affected  by  the 
prevailing  tone."  He  was  quite  humble  before  her. 
"  And  it's  so  impossible  for  me,  while  I'm  so  preoccupied 
with  business,  to  think  clearly.  I  feel  it  will  be  done  on 
impulse.  There  is  every  reason  I  should  stick  to  my 
work.  But  that's  not  everything.  It's  not  simple. 
Nothing's  simple." 

"  No,"  said  Marian.  Her  lips  framed  the  word.  She 
did  not  utter  it  aloud.  Only  she  wished  he  would  go,  and 
leave  her  alone  with  her  paralysed  heart. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  bad  company  this  afternoon,"  Nigel 
ventured. 

"  I'm  very  busy  myself." 

"  Not  displeased  with  me?  "  He  was  still,  it  was  evi- 
dent, dependent  upon  her  good  opinion. 

"How  could  I  be?"  Marian  took  refuge  in  that, 
scorning  herself  for  hiding  her  grief,  but  driven  to  con- 
cealment by  a  stronger  impulse  than  that  of  frankness. 
"  It's  five  o'clock.  I'm  so  sorry."  She  followed  him  to 
the  door.  Upon  the  threshold  they  stood  for  a  moment. 
Nigel  made  as  if  to  speak,  checked  himself,  and  went  out 
of  the  room.    Their  farewell  was  said.    She  was  at  last 


A  VISIT  FROM  NIGEL  241 

alone.  She  went  back  into  the  room,  closing  the  door 
firmly  behind  her. 

Marian  went  back  to  the  table,  seated  herself,  and 
mechanically  poured, out  another  cup  of  tea,  which  she 
did  not  drink.  What  a  fool  she  had  been  to  look  forward 
so  to  this  first  interview.  It  was  always  the  way  that 
when  one  had  lively  anticipations  the  reality  was  a  bitter 
humiliation.  Had  she  not  learned  that  from  past  experi- 
ence? Sightlessly,  she  fumbled  among  the  cigarettes. 
She  was  conscious  of  a  complete  suspension  of  emotion. 
She  felt  like  an  automaton,  unreal  and  tragic. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  presently  asked  herself. 
Then,  convulsively,  she  stood  up  again,  her  hands  to  her 
breast.  "Oh,  I'm  old!  I'm  old!"  cried  Marian,  her 
mouth  distorted  with  pain. 


CHAPTER  V:  THREE'S  COMPANY 


ON  Friday,  at  tea-time,  Marian  was  surprised  to  re- 
ceive a  hasty  visit  from  Cherry.  She  was  sitting 
alone,  and  tea  was  being  brought  in,  when  Cherry  ar- 
rived ;  and  the  girl  came  hesitatingly  into  the  room.  She 
was  in  a  beautifully  ductile  mood,  like  a  child.  Marian, 
unprepared,  was  looking  up  with  a  faint  frown  of  curi- 
osity at  so  unexpected  a  visit  upon  the  eve  of  the  dinner- 
party; but  all  her  doubt  fled  before  this  easy  charm. 

"Why,  come  along!"  she  cried,  as  Cherry,  suddenly 
roguish,  stood  before  her,  enjoying  the  sight  of  Marian 
in  a  sort  of  trance. 

"  I  was  walking  along  Sloane  Street   ..." 

"  Splendid.  Sit  here.  It's  so  cold  to-day."  Marian 
moved  a  chair  nearer  the  little  tea-table,  while  Edith, 
unbidden,  swished  in  with  another  cup  and  saucer,  and 
a  plate. 

"I  say!  You  do  yourself  jolly  well!  Cream!" 
Cherry  pretended  to  be  surprised  at  luxuriousness. 
"  Mother  would  have  a  fit." 

Marian  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  must  have  known  you  were  coming,"  she  suggested. 

"  I  believe  you  always  have  it  like  this,"  Cherry  said, 
provokingly.  "  It's  quite  right.  Why  shouldn't  one  look 
after  one's  self?  " 

"  One  generally  does,"  agreed  Marian,  drily. 

"  Most  people  pretend  not  to.  Like  ostriches.  I'm  so 
glad  you're  selfish,  too." 

242 


THREE'S  COMPANY  243 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it  makes  me  more  human,"  said 
Marian.  But  behind  her  smile  she  was  quite  grave,  be- 
cause she  had  all  sorts  of  memories  pressing  upon  her. 
Cherry  looked  quickly  up,  but  her  eyes,  meeting  those  of 
Marian,  skipped  away,  returned,  and  again  were  averted, 
in  a  mischievous  raillery  not  unmixed  with  shame. 

"  I  shan't  have  much  of  a  chance  of  talking  to  you 
to-night,"  she  announced.  "  Mother  will  do  all  the  talk- 
ing. She  does,  you  know.  She's  a  talker.  I  think  that's 
why  I've  learnt  to  hold  my  tongue.  It's  wiser,  don't  you 
think?" 

"  If  it's  held  at  the  right  moment,"  Marian  admitted. 
'  If  you  hold  it  at  the  wrong  time  you're  rather  inclined 
to  make  trouble." 

"  For  yourself?  "    Cherry  was  alert. 

'  It  all  comes  back  to  that.  Sometimes  it's  so  hard  to 
hold  your  tongue,  and  sometimes  so  easy." 

"  You  hold  yours." 

"  It's  a  mark  of  second-rateness  to  be  silent." 

The  notion  came  as  a  shock  to  Cherry.  It  was  contrary 
to  her  belief. 

'But  why?"  she  begged,  her  eyes  round.  "How 
oracular  you  can  be !  " 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  the  really  wise  person  had 
nothing  to  conceal,  and  a  great  store  of  riches  to  give 
to  everybody.  The  wise  person  has  so  many  points  of 
contact  with  others.  All  penuriousness  and  curmudgeon- 
lessness  is  inferior.    Don't  you  think  so?  " 

Cherry  thought  for  a  moment,  her  pretty  face 
shadowed. 

"  Meanness,"  she  said.    "  Well,  what  about  caution?  " 

"  I'd  rather  people  were  generous  than  just." 

"  Oh,  Marian !  "  Cherry  was  laughing  aghast.  "  You 
wouldn't.  Just  imagine  everybody  tumbling  over  them- 
selves to  give.     It  would  be  most  awfully  boring." 


244  SEPTEMBER 

"  There's  no  danger,"  submitted  Marian.  "  Just  think 
of  the  givers  and  takers." 

"  Let's  have  measure  ...  in  all  things."  It  was 
said  with  mock  solemnity.  Cherry  was  thinking  other 
matters,  more  personal  matters.  "  I  want  to  see  things 
as  they  are." 

"  The  danger  is  that  one  may  see  them  undersized. 
It's  horribly  easy  to  dwarf  them  by  one's  own  egotism." 

Cherry  looked  a  little  uncomfortable.  For  the  first 
time  her  radiance  fell,  and  a  hardness  showed  in  her. 

"You're  finding  fault  with  me?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"My  dear!"  Marian  was  genuinely  distressed.  "I 
didn't  think  we  were  talking  about  ourselves.  You  can't 
suppose  I  think  myself  very  generous.     Or  wise." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Cherry  said,  in  a  non-committal  voice. 
"  I  don't  really  know  what  you  think.  I  know  I'm  very 
sensitive   .    .    .     Marian,  I  wanted  to  tell  you   ..." 

Marian  caught  a  new  note  of  seriousness,  and  bent  a 
little  forward;  but  she  never  heard  what  was  to  follow, 
for  at  that  moment  Howard  walked  into  the  room. 

ii 

It  was  perhaps  a  shock  to  all  three,  for  this  meeting 
took  place  after  such  a  long  interval,  and  after  what 
must  have  been  so  many  hours  of  painful  thought.  It 
was  all  extraordinarily  quiet  and  commonplace.  Howard 
certainly  stopped  short.  Marian  felt  that  she  withdrew, 
and  became  watchful — not  catlike,  but  observant  of  her 
companions,  like  somebody  who  contemplates  her  own 
emotion  from  a  place  apart.  Cherry  alone  gave  no  out- 
ward sign  of  discomposure,  though  she  became  precipi- 
tate in  action.  She  got  up  from  her  chair,  and  moved 
towards  the  newcomer  with  a  manner  of  perfect  frank- 
ness. 

"  Hullo !  "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  of  greeting.     "  This  is 


THREE'S  COMPANY  245 

unexpected.  I'm  just  going,  Howard.  I  shall  be  here 
again  in  a  little  while,  with  mother  and  father." 

"  Hullo,  Cherry,"  Howard  responded,  and  took  her 
hand.  He  did  no  more  than  touch  it.  Marian  saw 
Cherry's  quick  glance  travel  comprehensively  over  his 
face,  and  note  his  bearing.  It  was  a  survey  almost 
methodical — certainly  very  complete  and  understanding, 
but  not  emotional.  She  admired  Cherry's  composure,  and 
saw  once  again — in  a  glimpse  of  truth — the  honesty 
which  made  that  composure  tolerable.  In  her  heart  she 
knew  that  Cherry  had  played  straight.  She  could  always 
be  a  woman  at  need,  however  childish  and  selfish  she 
might  otherwise  seem.  But  Cherry  did  not  now  look  at 
Marian.  There  would  have  been  a  pause,  if  Marian  had 
not  taken  part  in  the  talk  and  saved  the  momentary 
consternation. 

"  D'you  want  some  tea,  Howard  ?  I'll  order  some 
fresh.  I  didn't  really  suppose  you'd  be  to  tea;  and 
Cherry's  a  surprise  visitor." 

"  No  thanks."  He  was  gruff,  standing  there  awk- 
wardly before  them.  "  I've  had  tea.  Well,  it's  very  nice 
to  see  you,  Cherry,  after  this  long  time."  He  was  sur- 
veying Cherry  in  a  gingerly  way,  distrusting  her,  as 
Marian  could  see.  "  It's  a  very  long  time — a  couple  of 
months." 

"  Yes.  You've  been  very  busy,  haven't  you  ?  "  asked 
Cherry. 

"  Very.  There's  a  lot  to  do  now.  It  takes  all  my  atten- 
tion  .    .    .     How's  Robert  ?  " 

Cherry  shrugged,  her  mouth  curling  into  a  smile  of 
mock-disgust. 

"  Just  as  usual.  He  won't  change.  He'll  always  be 
the  same  fiddler  with  engines  and  wheels.  All  his  con- 
servative life.    He's  a  mere  cog." 

"  Yes.    And  you   .    .    .     Have  you  changed  ?  " 


246  SEPTEMBER 

It  was  daring  of  Howard  to  risk  that  double-edged 
inquiry,  knowing  as  he  did  that  Marian  would  read  the 
question  to  its  heart.  Cherry  moved,  almost  with  a 
nervous  restlessness. 

"  Oh,  I'm  always  changing,"  she  said.  "  I'm  never  the 
same.    Am  I,  Marian  ?  " 

Cherry,  it  seemed,  was  glad  to  have  Marian  behind 
her,  thankful  to  have  her  as  a  friend.  It  was  curious 
how  aware  they  both  felt  of  the  waves  of  sympathetic 
understanding  which  passed  between  them.  It  was  no 
sex  freemasonry,  but  a  personal  interchange. 

"Oh,  you're  very  tangential,  Cherry  ..."  She 
hurried  to  the  rescue,  but  not  with  a  serious  wish  to 
interpret  a  perverse  temperament. 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  know  what  that  means,"  Cherry  said, 
with  an  impudent  display. 

"  It  means  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,"  explained 
Marian. 

"  It  means  unreliable,"  added  Howard.  Marian  shook 
her  head  at  his  obstinacy,  and  she  quickly  retorted : 

"  Or  sincere."  Marian  was  now  wholly  loyal  to 
Cherry,  slightly  indignant  that  Howard  should  so  un- 
blushingly  take  a  high  moral  line,  and  determined  that  he 
should  be  warned  of  his  error. 

"  What  a  tangle ! "  cried  Cherry,  as  if  in  delight. 
Nothing  betrayed  her  chagrin  at  an  accusation.  "  And 
what  an  interesting  person  I  must  be." 

"  Oh,  you  are,"  said  Howard.  His  sternness  had  be- 
come fixed;  but  although  his  words  were  impolite  his 
manner  was  not  outrageous. 

"  We're  all  interesting — to  anybody  who  takes  the 
trouble  to  notice  it,"  exclaimed  Marian.  "  At  least,  it 
seems  so  to  me.  But  people  won't  take  the  trouble. 
They're  such  dull  egotists  themselves,  that  they  can't 
spare  any  attention  for  others." 


THREE'S  COMPANY  247 

Howard  looked  at  Cherry,  and  Cherry,  archly  mis- 
chievous, her  little  mouth  curled  up  at  the  corners,  at 
Howard.  Both  then,  by  a  common  impulse,  turned  back 
to  Marian. 

"  She's  been  like  that  all  the  afternoon,  Howard.  Ever 
since  I've  been  here,  at  least.  Laying  down  the  law.  Of 
course,  she's  right;  but  how  trying  it  is  to  know  some- 
body who's  right — always.  You'd  give  anything  to  see 
her  tripped-up.  I'd  like  to  set  a  trap  for  her.  It  would 
be  great  fun..   I'll  do  it  one  day." 

"  You  wouldn't  catch  her,"  Howard  said,  half-seri- 
ously.     "  She's  no  fool,  is  Marian." 

Cherry  cast  a  flying  glance  of  comic  despair  at  Marian. 

"  Hopeless !  "  she  cried.  "  Howard  ought  to  know.  I 
was  afraid  so.    And  what  a  tribute !  " 

Her  cheeks  were  pinker.  She  made  a  movement,  and 
shook  hands  again  with  Howard.  Marian  followed  her, 
drawn  by  a  little  outstretching  of  Cherry's  fingers 
towards  herself.  When  they  were  outside  the  room, 
Marian  could  not  refrain  from  kissing  Cherry  lightly 
upon  the  cheek,  and  the  caress  provoked  a  sharp  hand- 
pressure  of  gratitude.  That  was  the  only  sign  Cherry 
gave  of  having  been  greatly  moved.  Then  she  was  gone, 
and  the  field  was  left  to  Marian  and  to  Howard. 

iii 

When  Marian  went  back  into  the  room,  Howard  was 
exactly  where  she  had  left  him.  His  head  was  sunk  into 
his  shoulders,  and  he  stood  like  a  stock.  A  bitter  expres- 
sion was  upon  his  healthy  face,  and  his  manner  was 
slightly  morose. 

"  She'll  be  back  in  a  couple  of  hours,"  Marian  said. 
"  It  was  just  a  sudden  whim  to  call.  She  came  about 
nothing.     As  far  as  I  can  remember,  at  least." 

"  She  didn't  expect  to  see  me,"  Howard  answered. 


248  SEPTEMBER 

rather  grimly.    "  It  came  as  a  bit  of  a  surprise  to  her." 
"  You  arc  early.    Was  it  anything  special !  " 
"  No,"  Howard  said  awkwardly.    "  What  should  there 

be?" 

When  a  man  is  defiant,  his  wife  always  supposes  a 
reason;  and  Marian's  eyebrows  arched  at  his  question. 

"  I  just  meant,  was  there  some  news,  or  were  you 
tired,"  she  explained.  Oh,  these  words  of  one  syllable, 
to  avoid  misconception ! 

"  I  was  tired.    I  wanted  to  be  home  to  tea." 

He  was  quite  short  with  her,  short  and  resentful  of 
her  curiosity.  So  Marian  let  him  continue  silent  for  some 
time,  while  Howard,  stretching  his  hands  to  the  fire,  sat 
in  Cherry's  vacated  arm-chair  and  thought  heavily. 

"  Nobody  else  been  to-day?  "  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  No,"    said   Marian,   wonderingly.      What   was   the 
matter  with  Howard  ?    She  could  not  tell.    It  was  some- 
thing not  to  be  explained,  except  that  he  was  emerging 
from  his  passion  for  Cherry  and  was  conscious  of  a 
crackling  loneliness  and  desire  for  his  wife's  healing  com- 
pany.   Was  that  it?    But,  in  that  case,  why  the  irritabil- 
ity ?    She  had  been  accustomed  to  contrition.    It  was  very 
strange,  and  not  at  all  amusing.     Moreover,  Howard's 
mind  went  to  and  fro  among  the  words  they  had  ex- 
changed.   He  returned  to  Cherry's  visit. 
"  I  wonder  why  she  came,"  he  said,  aloud. 
"  Cherry  ?    Just  a  whim,  I  think." 
"  Wanted  to  see  you  alone.     The  first  time  since  she 
was  at  Hippeswell."    He  was  elaborately  the  tactician. 

"  She  was  just  cheerful.  And  it  isn't  the  first  time  I've 
seen  her.  I  ran  into  her  the  other  evening,  and  we  had 
a  talk." 

"  Oh."    He  was  sharp  in  taking  her  up.    "  You  didn't 

say." 

"  I  must  have  forgotten,"  said  Marian. 


THREE'S  COMPANY  249 

He  was  afraid  to  ask  her  any  more;  and  presently 
went  out  of  the  room.  And  after  he  had  gone,  Marian 
remembered  that  Cherry  had  been  upon  the  point  of 
saying  something  when  Howard  first  appeared.  What 
had  she  been  going  to  say?  "  Marian,  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  ..."  Oh,  it  couldn't  have  been  anything  at  all. 
Except  about  Howard,  and  Cherry  would  hardly  have 
broken  silence  on  that  subject.  Marian  resolutely  put  the 
question  out  of  her  attention.  She  had  spent  the  day  in 
refusing  to  think. 


CHAPTER  VI:  THE  QUESTION 


THE  evening  came,  and  it  passed;  but  Marian  had 
no  personal  talk  with  Cherry,  because  Alice  Mant 
was  so  full  of  her  own  garrulity  that  no  other  person  was 
able  to  converse.  Marian  was  heartily  tired  of  her  by  the 
end  of  the  evening.  She  more  than  ever  sympathised 
with  Cherry,  who  might  have  been  driven  by  such  a 
heedless,  unimaginative  woman  into  the  very  sickness  of 
revolt  which  her  mother  feared  and  which  she  tried  to 
avert.  As  a  result  of  this  incessant  monologue,  Marian 
did  not  learn  what  it  was  that  Cherry  had  wished  to  say. 
The  parting  came  without  any  clarification;  and  there- 
after Marian  spent  some  bitter  moments  in  thinking  of 
Alice  and  her  failure.  How  much  misery  and  wrong- 
doing were  caused  in  the  world  by  inefficient  mothers! 
It  was  a  subject  inexhaustible  in  its  variations.  In  the 
particular  instance,  there  was  sufficient  reason  why 
Cherry  should  fail  in  some  respects  to  conform  to  ac- 
cepted standards  of  conduct.  The  evening  ended  with  a 
feeling  on  Marian's  side  warmer  than  it  had  ever  been 
towards  Cherry.  She  seized  the  moment  of  departure  to 
give  Cherry  an  emphatic  invitation  to  come  often  to 
Sloane  Street.  If  reward  had  been  needed  for  such  a 
piece  of  kindness  it  was  to  be  found  in  the  look  of  grati- 
tude which  accompanied  Cherry's  eager  "Really? 
Really  would  you  like  me  to  come?  "  It  was  as  though 
CHerry  had  said,  with  all  her  heart,  "  You  are  my  friend." 
Was  not  that  a  triumph  for  Marian  ? 

250 


THE  QUESTION  251 


11 


And  on  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  to  Marian's 
secret  distress,  Nigel  came  again  to  tea.  He  arrived 
early,  without  warning,  and  he  was  both  pale  and  con- 
strained. As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  Marian  knew  that 
nothing  could  make  their  interview  satisfactory.  She 
felt  her  heart  cold  within  her;  she  read  in  his  face  the 
signs  of  an  intense  preoccupation.  Her  mind  flew  back 
to  their  last  meeting.  She  recalled  it  in  detail ;  but  she 
found  herself  lethargic  and  unresponsive.  She  was 
conscious  of  low  vitality,  of  a  stupid  inability  to  rise  to 
any  demand  Nigel  might  make  upon  her  mood.  She  felt 
old  and  uncomfortable.  And  all  the  time  watchful  of 
the  change  that  a  few  weeks  had  wrought  in  him.  To  her 
eye  he  seemed  to  look  extremely  ill.  His  colour  had 
faded,  his  skin  was  slightly  roughened,  his  lips  were  a 
little  swollen.  His  eyes  had  lost  some  of  their  lustre ;  and 
his  expression  was  that  of  one  pathetically  ill-at-ease. 
Why?  Marian  had  no  means  of  knowing.  Things  had 
happened  of  which  she  could  form  no  opinion. 

They  met,  nevertheless,  with  the  old  lowered  tone  of 
intimacy,  and  their  hand-clasp  was  warm.  Marian  estab- 
lished him  in  comfort,  and  took  her  seat  opposite.  She 
had  not  long  to  wait  before  Nigel  began  to  explain  the 
occasion  of  his  call. 

"  I've  come  before  I  meant  to,"  he  said,  frankly.  "  But 
it's  because  I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  since  I  was 
here  last.    For  one  thing  I've  come  to  a  half-decision." 

Marian's  heart  began  to  beat.  How  strange  that  she 
had  thought  herself  completely  steeled!  She  had  not 
wanted  him  to  come;  she  had  been  sorry  at  his  entrance; 
and  now,  in  an  instant,  all  that  aversion  was  dispelled. 
It  was  gone,  like  a  mist  before  sunshine.  So  all  lovers 
have  these  fits  of  disinclination,  followed  by  moods  of 


252  SEPTEMBER 

almost  rapture  in  each  other's  company.  Marian  was 
excited,  apprehensive.    She  listened  with  intentness. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  and  did  not  guess  how  ten- 
derly betraying  was  her  voice. 

"  For  this  moment,"  Nigel  hesitated,  "  it's  .  .  .  well, 
I've  practically  made  up  my  mind  to  go  into  the  army." 

"Nigel!" 

"  Oh,  it's  not  fear,  or  enthusiasm  .  .  .  It's  some- 
thing else,  that  I  can't  explain  because  I  don't  under- 
stand. It's  not  a  sense  of  duty.  It's  simply  that  I've  lost 
grip  of  my  own  self.  Marian,  things  have  begun  to  be 
absolutely  intolerable." 

"  What  things  ?  "  She  pressed  him  to  reveal  the  in- 
fluences at  work.  Nigel  shrugged,  looking  away,  looking 
anywhere  but  at  Marian,  who  watched  him  with  a  fresh 
and  deepening  pang. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  murmured. 

"  Then  I  can't  help  you,"  said  Marian,  deliberately. 
Emotion  made  her  hard.  She  was  possessed  by  the  in- 
stinct of  jealous  cruelty.  Nigel  started,  still  not  looking 
in  her  direction. 

"  Only  by   .    .    .   understanding,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Which  you  don't  allow  me  to  do,"  persisted  Marian. 

"  I  would  if  I  could."  He  moved  again,  uneasily. 
Then  gave  a  short  melancholy  laugh  that  froze  her. 
"  If  I  understood  myself  I'd  tell  you.     But  I  don't." 

"  You  think  I'm  failing  you  ?  "  Her  voice  was  hardly 
audible.  There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  they 
continued  to  sit  by  the  fire,  while  the  noises  of  the  street 
went  on,  and  the  whole  world  thundered  upon  its  way. 
Only  Marian  and  Nigel,  it  seemed,  were  silent,  searching 
hearts  and  consciences  for  some  elucidation  of  this  snap 
in  their  understanding. 

'  Is  that  so  important?  "  Nigel  said  at  last.  "  No,  I 
don't  think  you're  failing  me.     The  whole  fault's  mine. 


THE  QUESTION  253 

I'm  invertebrate.  I  ought  to  come  to  you  with  a  mind 
made  up ;  and  then  you'd  be  able  to  change  my  mind  and 
my  heart.    If  I'm  uncertain  you'll  be  uncertain." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  .  .  ."  Marian  checked  her- 
self. "  You  must  do  what  you  think  right.  If  you're  not 
sure  it's  right,  you  ought  not  to  do  it." 

"  I'm  the  person  least  involved,"  Nigel  said.  "  The 
whole  world's  involved,  and  I'm  the  merest  little  fraction 
of  flesh  in  it." 

"  And  spirit,"  urged  Marian.  "  Don't  forget  that, 
Nigel.  It's  not  what  one  does  that  matters.  I  mean — 
just  does.  It's  the  reasons  that  matter.  They're  the 
really  essential  things.  If  you  do  a  brave  thing  from  a 
cowardly  motive,  you  fail." 

Again  Nigel  shrugged. 

"  Is  your  choice  as  simple  as  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

Marian  flinched.  A  wave  of  anger  seized  her.  Was 
he  so  obtuse?  Had  he  no  conception  of  what  she  might 
suffer  in  life?  A  dead  feeling  of  failure  overwhelmed 
her. 

"  I  should  have  thought  not,"  she  answered,  coldly. 

It  brought  him  up  sharp.  At  last  he  turned  fully 
towards  her;  and  Marian  saw  the  suffering  in  his  face. 
He  was  in  acute  distress. 

"  I'm  sorry.  That's  the  point  I've  reached.  I  can't 
tell  you  why.  All  sorts  of  things  enter  into  it.  All 
the  inexplicable  criss-cross  of  motive  and  impulse — what 
one  wants,  and  hates,  and  fears,  all  going  on  at  the  same 
time.  I  didn't  realise  until  the  war  came  what  an  amaz- 
ingly weak  person  I  am.  It's  horrible  to  be  sensitive 
and  to  think.  If  one's  stupid,  or  merely  emotional,  or 
merely  philosophic — how  simple  everything  becomes! 
But  I'm  not  stupid.  And  to  have  brains  and  a  heart 
as  well — I  don't  think  any  suffering  can  be  more 
acute." 


254)  SEPTEMBER 

"  And  it's  more  even  than  that,"  Marian  said,  quietly. 
He  stared. 

"  Oh,  much  more,"  he  admitted.  "  And  it's  all  going 
on  at  one  time." 

Marian  fell  into  slow  thought.  It  was  not  now  the 
flashing  of  intuition  that  made  her  brain  dart  hither  and 
thither  among  suppositions.  Intuitions  were  numbed. 
She  thought  quite  clearly  of  Nigel's  nature  and  of  his 
problems. 

"  And  you're  getting  no  nearer  a  solution  ?  "  she  asked, 
at  last. 

He  groaned.    His  head  sank  upon  his  hand. 

"  Only  cutting  the  painter.  Only  throwing  personal 
responsibility  overboard.  Only  putting  everything  on  the 
one  throw — in  the  hope  of  simplifying." 

"  That's  despair,"  Marian  said,  quickly. 

"  It's  shame.  It's  confusion.  It's  loneliness — neu- 
roticism.  Anything  you  like.  But  at  least  I'm  blaming 
only  my  own  nature.  I'm  not  blaming  life,  which  is  what 
despair  does." 

"  I  wonder."  Marian  said  the  words  aloud.  To  her- 
self, to  that  purely  feminine  self  that  ran  headlong  to 
conjecture  upon  simple  lines,  she  said :  "  What  is  he 
talking  about?  What  has  happened  to  him?  It  can't  be 
only  the  one  question." 

iii 

Edith  brought  in  the  tea.  Nigel  roused  himself,  and 
sipped  at  his  cup  of  tea.  Already,  having  been  as  em- 
phatic in  demonstration  of  his  weakness  as  a  young  man 
could  be,  he  was  better.  She  saw  a  clearer  light  in  his 
eye.  He  was  still  the  man  she  had  realised.  This  mood 
was  not  the  real  Nigel;  but  some  simple  manifestation 
due  to  a  period  of  great  stress.  With  his  changed  posi- 
tion he  became  a  changed  man.     She  was  once  more  in 


THE  QUESTION  255 

touch  with  him.  But  he  was  still  not  at  ease,  and  she, 
sympathetically,  was  still  disquieted.  Her  busy  mind 
went  on,  weaving  a  story  out  of  her  intuitions. 

"How's  your  husband?"  Nigel  unexpectedly  asked. 
His  tone  stabbed  her.    Yes,  he  was  altered. 

He  spoke  quite  naturally  of  Howard.  Marian  sat  with 
bowed  head. 

"  Oh  .  .  .  he's  very  well,"  she  said,  in  a  drawling 
way  that  hid  her  emotions.  "  He's  busy,  as  everybody  is. 
And  he's  worried  about  the  war.     And  he's   ..." 

"  I  suppose  his  problems  are  very  simple  ? "  Nigel 
inquired. 

"  Yes,  quite,"  agreed  Marian,  conversationally.  "  His 
nature's  simple.  He's  got  a  practical  mind,  that  is  en- 
grossed with  one  idea  at  a  time." 

"  He's  very  fortunate,"  said  Nigel,  only  half-attending. 

Suddenly,  as  though  the  mention  of  Howard,  and  her 
own  pain  at  its  coolness,  had  supplied  her  with  a  link 
hitherto  wanting,  Marian  had  a  curious  shock.  She  felt 
all  the  blood  leave  her  cheeks.  A  deadly  faintness  seized 
her.  Nigel  appeared  in  a  grey  haze  before  her.  For  an 
instant  she  feared  loss  of  consciousness.  Then  she  grad- 
ually recovered,  and  was  again  cool ;  but  in  her  eyes  might 
have  been  read  a  new  agony,  just  born,  just  passionately 
working  in  her  system,  fruit  of  this  single  imagined  thing. 
Never  before  had  Marian  had  so  extraordinary  a  moment 
of  pain  and  intuition.  She  moistened  her  lips,  and  moved 
a  little  forward  in  her  chair.  When  the  chair  creaked 
slightly,  she  gave  a  shudder  that  ran  through  her  whole 
body.    Yet  when  she  spoke  Marian's  voice  was  normal. 

"You'll  have  some  more  tea;   .    .    .   some  cake?  " 

"  No,  thank  you."  Nigel's  thoughts  were  far  away. 
He  was  evidently  recalling  their  talk,  for  he  burst  out : 
"  I  say,  you've  been  most  awfully  patient  with  me.  You 
know  how  grateful  I  am,  don't  you." 


256  SEPTEMBER 

Marian's  smile  was  unreadable. 

"  I  am  rather  patient,  aren't  I !  "  she  assented  drily. 
"  I've  got  such  a  lymphatic  tempei  ament.  It's  a  great 
advantage."  She  met  his  suspicion  with  imper- 
turbability. '  Very  largely,  it's  a  matter  of  age,  I 
think." 

Nigel,  unable  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  her  meaning,  was 
silent,  puzzled. 

"  I  wonder  if  you're  lymphatic,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Oh,  very,"  she  assured  him.  "  And  all  that  question 
of  blood-heat  comes  into  it,  too.  You  remember  you 
once  wanted  to  apply  such  a  test?  That  was  when  we 
first  met." 

"  You  remember  that?  "  asked  Nigel,  eagerly.  "  How 
pleasant  that  was." 

"  Yes."  Marian,  her  eyes  half-closed,  prepared  her 
bombshell.  "  Won't  you  smoke  ?  Won't  you  .  .  .  have 
a  .  .  .  Two-toed-twin  ?  "  She  was  breathing  hard  and 
her  breast  rising  and  falling  in  rapid  excitement. 

Nigel  started.    And  looked  at  her  astonished. 

"Do  you  call  them  that?"  he  demanded.  A  faint 
colour  came  into  his  cheeks. 

"  Isn't  that — it's  a  horrible  stupid  name;  but  isn't  that 
what  they're  called  ?  ,:  Marian's  face  was  like  marble. 
Her  eyes  glittered;  her  mouth  was  set  in  a  smile  that 
held  all  her  cruelty.  As  he  took  a  cigarette,  she  waited. 
Then  at  last,  very  slowly  and  quietly,  she  said :  "  Have 
you  seen  Cherry  Mant  lately,  Nigel  ?  " 

iv 

And  then  Marian  was  afraid  to  look  at  him!  A 
dreadful  cowardice  took  possession  of  her.  She  stared 
straight  at  the  brightly-burning  fire,  and  took  a  sip  from 
her  tea-cup,  and  waited  for  his  reply.  It  came  at  last, 
in  a  dry  voice,  very  low. 


THE  QUESTION  257 

"  Cherry?  Oh.  /es,  I've  met  her  several  times  .  .  . 
at  dances." 

Marian  heard  herself  saying: 

"  It's  so  early  for  dancing  that  I  can't  realise  how 
much  things  are  changed  nowadays.  Presently  we  shall 
have  dancing  all  the  year  round.  And  then  it  will  sud- 
denly go  fut,  and  nobody  will  dance  at  all,  I  suppose.  / 
met  Cherry  the  other  night  at  a  dance.  You  weren't 
there,  though   ...   at  the  WagstafiV  house." 

"  I  was  going.    I  didn't  go.    Was  Cherry  there,  then?  " 

"  With  a  party."  Marian  would  not  spare  him.  At 
last  she  recovered  from  her  paralysis.  She  could  read 
nothing  at  all  from  his  voice  or  his  face.  Whatever 
opportunity  she  might  have  had  of  noticing  the  effect  of 
her  question  had  now  passed.  Only,  she  was  now  in  pos- 
session of  an  essential  fact.  He  and  Cherry  had  met. 
Was  not  that  enough,  she  told  herself  in  savage  self- 
torture,  to  ensure  a  wakeful  night  or  a  broken  heart? 
Was  it  not  enough  to  stun  her,  to  open  up  new  vistas  of 
unbearable  pain?  And,  after  that,  what?  After  that  a 
vengeful  madness?  She  was  shaken  with  hatred  of 
Cherry. 


CHAPTER  VII:  BETRAYAL 


SHE  was  shaken  with  such  hatred  that  when  Nigel  had 
gone,  and  when  the  full  flood  of  her  suspicion  gushed 
wildly  into  definite  accusation,  Marian  had  ado  to  keep 
herself  from  screaming.  As  it  was,  she  uttered  no  sound, 
made  no  movement;  but  with  the  fateful  cramp  of  the 
self-controlled  woman  endured  torture  the  more  terrible 
for  the  suppression  of  every  outward  sign  of  illness. 
She  was  mordant  in  her  thoughts  of  a  treacherous 
Cherry,  of  a  girl  who  lied  and  lied  again  with  inconceiv- 
able effrontery.  Every  hitherto-loyal  perception  of 
Cherry's  truthfulness,  of  her  modesty  and  candour,  and 
her  young  impulsiveness,  went  flying.  The  girl  became 
in  this  frenzy  of  jealousy  a  depraved  wanton,  capable  of 
every  enormity.  Shock  after  shock  of  disillusion  went 
through  Marian.  Every  least  expression  upon  that 
pretty  face  which  had  shown  the  temptations  to  which 
Cherry  was  subject  came  back  to  her  memory,  fighting 
and  struggling  for  mastery  over  her  judgment.  All  her 
kind  thoughts  of  Cherry  were  seen  to  be  the  folly  of 
deliberate  blindedness.  Marian  was  beside  herself.  Her 
brain  had  become  the  slave  of  her  emotion.  Thoughts 
of  Cherry  so  base  that  in  a  normal  mood  she  could  not 
have  conceived  them  flashed  woundingly  into  her  mind, 
and  grew  together  until  they  made  there  a  great  tower  of 
hostility.  Thoughts  that  were  biting  speeches  of  re- 
proach, of  condemnation,  came  out  of  the  chaos  of 
Marian's  torment.     Every  reserve  and  every  reservation 

258 


BETRAYAL  259 

was  torn  away  in  this  sharp  naked  venom  of  hatred. 
Never  once  did  she  think  of  Howard  or  Nigel  as  any- 
thing but  as  instruments  in  the  hands  of  a  Cherry  calcu- 
latingly and  inescapably  wicked.  It  was  for  Cherry  alone 
that  she  felt  this  anguish  of  hatred.  She  had  no  single 
feeling  that  was  not  bitter.  The  whole  of  life  seemed  to 
her  to  be  one  intricate  mass  of  horror.  Motive  and 
counter-motive,  illusion  and  disillusion  .  .  .  these  were 
her  obsession.  But  at  bottom  it  was  the  madness  of  love 
that  gave  fury  to  Marian's  imaginings — the  madness  of 
love  struggled  against,  love  invincible,  love  now  cast 
bleeding  at  her  feet,  a  dishonoured  corpse.  That  this 
violence  of  imagination  was  built  upon  so  slight  a  fabric 
but  added  to  Marian's  sense  of  grief.  She  had  lost  her 
precious  reserve,  that  self-respect  which  had  saved  her 
all  along  from  the  excesses  of  suspicion.  It  was  shame 
as  well  as  suspicion  that  now  heightened  her  hysterical 
suffering.  She  stopped  at  nothing.  Everything  that  was 
bad  in  her  came  out,  like  another  woman's  coarseness  in 
a  quarrel.  All  she  had  ever  noticed  of  women's  delibe- 
rateness  in  love  hurried  to  her  attention  and  increased 
the  wildness  of  her  accusations.  Nothing  could  check 
the  flood  of  her  anger  and  her  vehemence. 

She  saw  Cherry  without  judgment,  but  with  the  pierc- 
ing eye  of  jealousy. 

ii 

This  mood  lasted  long.  It  lasted  throughout  a  lonely 
evening,  until  Howard's  return  after  dinner;  and  it  was 
resumed  when  she  went  to  bed,  until,  exhausted  with  so 
much  nervous  travail,  Marian  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of 
Cherry  and  herself. 

In  the  morning  her  body  ached  as  though  she  had 
been  beaten.  She  lay  heavy-lidded  and  forlorn,  filled 
with  a  sense  of  stale  anger  that  brought  disgust  in  its 


260  SEPTEMBER 

train.  There  stole  back  into  her  mind  the  thoughts  of 
the  previous  evening;  but  she  expelled  them  with  a  weary 
effort.  She  was  worn  out,  and  incapable  of  continuing 
in  the  same  state  of  fever.  It  was  not  that  her  attitude 
had  changed.  She  still  disliked  Cherry  with  an  ugly 
aversion ;  but  the  hysteria  was  less.  A  brooding  helpless- 
ness had  replaced  it — not  the  morbid  self-depreciation  of 
the  habitually  hysterical  woman,  but  a  sheer  physical 
tiredness  and  disgust  which  made  her  brain  sluggish. 
The  suspicions  throbbed  on,  nagging  her.  She  could  not, 
she  would  not,  think  of  Cherry  or  of  Nigel.  She  was 
left  with  nothing  to  think  of  but  the  war — the  war  which 
was  engrossing  the  attention  of  everybody  in  the  civilised 
world,  as  a  malignant  background  to  their  own  insistent 
personal  experience. 

Marian  thought  about  the  war  much  as  other  intelli- 
gent women  thought  about  it  at  the  time.  It  was  a 
fascinating  horror,  a  definite  stir  to  the  nerves  and  chal- 
lenge to  the  spirit.  But  she  had  not  yet  awakened  to  the 
war  at  first  hand,  because  during  its  progress,  apart  from 
learning  the  news  of  calamitous  events,  she  had  been 
obsessed  by  matters  of  immediate  domestic  significance. 
She  had  been  in  love.  She  was  still  in  love.  The  war 
remained  a  background.  Only  now  was  it  encroaching 
upon  her  own  life,  and  even  in  this  encroachment  the 
war,  and  its  effect  in  taking  Nigel  from  her  side,  was 
less  than  the  sense  that  Nigel  was  being  drawn  from  her 
heart.  Still  the  war  lay  somewhere  vaguely  "  out  there," 
beyond  a  sea,  far  away  from  the  tiny  tragedy  that  went 
endlessly  on  in  her  own  nature. 

If  Nigel  went  to  the  war.  What  then  ?  He  might  be 
killed.  She  shuddered,  turning  sick  at  the  vivid  mental 
picture  of  his  dead  face.  Or  he  might  be  shockingly 
injured,  blinded,  destroyed  as  a  human  creature.  He 
might  be  so  changed  by  experience  as  to  be  irrecoverable. 


BETRAYAL  261 

She  might  never  see  or  hear  of  him  again.  Well,  if  he 
loved  another  woman — no  thought  of  any  inconstancy 
of  his  ever  entered  her  mind — he  would  be  equally  lost 
to  her.  Did  he  love  another  woman  ?  Her  jealousy  said 
"  yes."  She  had  nothing  in  her  heart  but  a  certainty  of 
suspicion.  Cherry  ..."  mooning  off  with  some 
fellow  "...  Wearily,  she  turned  her  head  upon  the 
pillow. 

•  •  • 

in 

With  terrible  dexterity  her  mind  probed  into  Cherry's 
mind  until  she  was  incapable  of  the  energy  required  for 
the  exercise.  It  seemed  as  if  her  knowledge  of  Cherry 
had  been  suddenly  increased.  It  was  a  nightmare,  from 
which  she  shrank.  Only  very  slowly  did  judgment  re- 
assert itself;  and  even  then  it  was  judgment  at  the  mercy 
of  any  quick  memory  and  interpretation  of  memory  that 
might  flit  into  range  of  her  attention.  She  was  coldly 
unhappy,  with  fierce  irruptions  of  heat  due  entirely  to 
the  fact  that  Cherry  was  another  woman.  Her  jealousy 
was  not  of  any  quality  in  Cherry  that  she  did  not  herself 
possess — except  the  one  priceless  quality  of  youth.  It 
was  purely  sexual  jealousy;  and  that  was  what  made  it 
a  madness  in  her  blood. 

Wearily  Marian  rose,  and  dressed,  and  breakfasted. 
The  morning  paper  had  been  cast  to  the  ground; 
Howard's  coffee-cup  stood  still  upon  the  table ;  the  toast- 
rack  had  been  replenished.  Marian's  head  ached.  She 
walked  with  languor,  dreary  and  unhappy.  She  could  eat 
nothing.  The  morning  was  rainy,  and  she  felt  that 
winter  was  here.  Little  puffs  of  smoke  were  blown  from 
the  chimney  and  into  the  close  room.  She  looked  round 
at  the  bare  furnishings  with  distaste.  A  quick  longing 
for  Hippeswell  came  into  her  heart.  That  was  her  home  : 
this,  whatever  its  permanence,  would  never  be  anything 


262  SEPTEMBER 

but  a  pied-a-terre,  and  unsatisfactory  at  that.  But  it  was 
her  mood  alone  that  dictated  the  dislike  she  felt.  At 
Hippeswell  she  would  have  been  equally  dreary,  for  she 
was  worn  out. 

To  go  out  of  doors  was  at  first  an  impossible  thing 
to  contemplate;  but  after  an  hour  or  so  she  was  driven 
forth  by  boredom.  She  found  her  mackintosh,  and  some 
stout  boots,  and,  thus  clothed,  went  into  the  rain,  walking 
with  nervous  rapidity  among  the  roads  and  squares  of  the 
district,  noticing  dishevelled  sparrows,  and  pedestrians, 
and  taxicabs  with  their  splashed  windows  drawn  fully 
up.  Within  those  cabs  were  other  people,  perhaps  as 
unhappy  as  she,  perhaps  triumphant  with  joy.  More 
likely,  she  presently  thought,  they  were  being  driven,  pre- 
occupied with  tedious  routine,  from  place  to  place  in  this 
dull  city  of  bricks  and  hearths  and  triviality.  It  was  a 
doleful  morning. 

iv 

With  the  afternoon,  Marian  became  so  tired  that  she 
could  not  sit  upright.  She  went  to  her  bedroom  and  lay 
down,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep.  Two  hours  passed, 
and  still  she  slept.  She  awoke,  with  her  temples  aching, 
to  find  Edith  in  the  room,  tiptoeing  to  look  at  her. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  a  young  lady  .  .  .  Miss  Mant  .  .  . 
I  told  her  you   ..." 

"  Miss  Mant?  "  Marian  felt  her  heart  give  a  bound. 
Had  Cherry  the  impudence  to  come  here  ?  How  unspeak- 
able! Ah,  but  she  had  been  the  other  day,  the  other 
night.  She  had  merely  come  again.  There  was  no  limit 
to  her  effrontery.  Marian  sat  up  on  the  bed.  "  Tell 
her  ..."  A  quick  struggle  took  place  in  her  mind. 
Tell  her  I'll  be  there  in  a  minute.  Good  gracious!  Is 
it  four  o'clock?  " 

As  Edith  withdrew,  Marian  hastily  did  her  hair.     She 


BETRAYAL  263 

could  see  that  her  face  was  very  white,  and  the  pupils 
of  her  eyes  so  large  that  they  covered  nearly  the  whole  of 
the  iris  and  gave  her  whole  face  an  appearance  of  nervous 
tension.  For  a  moment  she  regretted  having  said  she 
would  see  Cherry.  Then  a  recklessness  succeeded.  What 
did  it  matter  ?  She  was  ready  to  meet  any  scrutiny.  In 
that  mood  she  entered  the  drawing-room. 

Cherry,  who  had  taken  off  both  mackintosh  and  hat, 
and  was  standing  with  flushed  cheeks  by  the  fire,  came 
more  than  half-way  to  meet  Marian.  Her  blue  eyes  were 
alight,  and  her  fair  hair  full  of  new  little  curls  which 
had  been  called  into  being  by  the  rain. 

::  Hullo,  Marian,"  she  cried.  "  Look  here,  I  hope  I 
haven't  been  a  beast  to  interrupt  you !  I  wanted  so  much 
to  see  you  ..."  The  words  stopped  abruptly.  Marian 
saw  the  face  so  near  to  her  own  swept  with  a  sudden 
alteration.  "  You're  ill,"  concluded  Cherry.  "  Oh,  my 
dear,  how  did  you  get  ill  ?  " 

It  was  then  that  Marian  saw  how  far  from  well  Cherry 
was.  With  her  first  radiance  of  meeting  dissipated,  she 
too  showed  signs  of  nervous  fatigue.  Marian's  examina- 
tion was  remorseless.  Cherry's  face  was  subjected  to 
unpitying  scrutiny. 

"  I'm  quite  well,"  Marian  said,  gravely.  "  I  don't  like 
this  weather.     Several  things  I  don't  like." 

"  Will  it  bother  you  to  have  me  here? " 

So  Cherry  thought  to  play  the  innocent  girl  ?  Or  was 
it  genuine  ?  That  doubt  came  into  Marian's  mind,  check- 
ing her.     She  replied,  still  coolly : 

"  On  the  contrary." 

[  You're  being  polite,"  Cherry  said.  "  You  needn't. 
I  don't  like  people  to  be  polite  to  me.  I'm  Cherry,  you 
know." 

Marian's  chin  hardened.     She  was  in  the  mood  to  say : 
'You'll  accept  what  you  get  from  me.     Be  thankful  it's 


264  SEPTEMBER 

no  worse  than  politeness."    Aloud,  she  drily  made  answer. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you're  Cherry." 

If  Marian  hardened,  so,  at  that,  did  Cherry.  Marian 
saw  quite  clearly  the  stiffening  that  came  upon  her — the 
sudden  wariness  that  came  into  her  expression.  Such 
a  perception  did  not  increase  Marian's  charity.  It  con- 
firmed her  mood.  The  two  sat  down,  tongue-tied  for  a 
moment. 

"  Beast  of  a  day,"  Cherry  announced.  There  was  even 
a  subtle  change  in  her  voice.  It  had  become  the  merely 
conversational  voice  of  one  who  went  to  parties.  Inti- 
macy had  fled.  Well,  Marian  had  her  own  power  in  such 
a  talk  as  this  would  be.  But  it  was  one  thing  to  imagine 
Cherry  in  absence;  quite  another  to  deal  with  Cherry 
in  the  flesh.  So  must  it  have  been  with  Marian  also. 
They  sat  looking  at  each  other,  estranged. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  horrid  day.    I  went  out  this  morning." 

"  But  you're  not  well,  you  know."  Cherry  was  look- 
ing with  a  flicker  of  affection,  half-pleading  to  be  accepted 
upon  the  terms  of  their  last  talk.  Marian  was  not  in  the 
mood  to  respond. 

"  Who  could  be  well  in  such  weather  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I 
suppose  you've  been  dancing  since  I  saw  you  last?  " 

"  No."  It  was  a  small  voice  that  spoke.  "  I  was  at 
home  each  night." 

"What  do  you  do  with  yourself  then?  " 

"  Nothing,  mostly.    Just  think.    And  worry." 

"  Worry?  "  Accusingly  Marian  looked  at  Cherry,  and 
Cherry,  who  seemed  nowadays  to  be  as  quick  as  Marian 
in  reading  words  and  tones  and  expressions,  proceeded 
no  further  with  her  revelation.  Marian  saw  her  own 
mistake,  but  she  could  not  command  herself  at  once  to 
rectify  it.  Several  seconds  passed  before  she  could  pro- 
ceed; and  then  Cherry's  impulse  had  died.  Again  they 
were   polite,    watchful    strangers.      "I    shouldn't   have 


BETRAYAL  265 

thought  you  had  anything  to  worry  about,"  said  Marian. 
"  Shouldn't  you  ?  "  asked  Cherry.    "  Well  then,  I  can't 
have,  can  I?  " 


Marian  thought  for  a  moment.  She  had  suffered  too 
much  to  be  kind.  And  even  in  her  coldness  to  Cherry  she 
had  some  irritation  at  the  girl's  egotism.  The  "  I'm 
Cherry,"  as  though  that  justified  everything,  exasperated 
her.  Not  only  for  itself,  but  because  it  played  havoc 
with  her  suspicion  of  design.  No  designing  person  was 
arrogant  in  this  way — coaxingly  arrogant.  And  yet  the 
facts  were  known  to  Marian.  She  knew  about  the  affair 
with  Howard ;  she  knew  that  Cherry  had  been  seeing 
Nigel.  The  assumption  that  she  had  changed  him  was 
unproven.  Marian  looked  at  the  piquante  little  face,  at 
the  pretty,  graceful  body,  and  the  sensitive  hands.  She 
sighed.  Oh,  no,  this  was  the  end  of  her  tolerance  of 
Cherry.  She  knew  too  much  about  her.  Too  much.  She 
had  suffered  too  much  upon  her  account.  Nervously,  her 
wish  was  to  cut  adrift  from  all  the  people  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  last  three  months  of  her  life — to  cut  adrift 
and  go  quietly  back  to  Hippeswell,  where  she  would  go 
about  her  daily  tasks  and  slowly  perish,  dying  of  lost 
interest  in  the  fact  of  living. 

All  this  time  Cherry  sat  opposite,  and  seemed  to  ignore 
Marian.  She  had  worn  a.  ghostly  smile  that  made  her 
look  like  a  baby,  but  her  eyes  had  been  hidden.  Sud- 
denly she  slipped  down  from  her  chair,  and  knelt  by 
Marian's  side.  Her  arms  were  stretched  across  Marian's 
lap,  and  her  soft  breast  against  Marian's  knee. 

"  That  was  beastly  of  me,"  she  whispered.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  say  it."  Marian  remained  rigid.  "  But  you 
were  beastly,  too    .    .    .    Marian." 

This  is  the  way  she  coaxes  everybody,  thought  Marian. 


266  SEPTEMBER 

It's  altogether  too  easy.  Her  heart  was  in  no  degree 
softened  by  the  appeal ;  but  she  put  an  arm  round  Cherry, 
and  let  the  girl's  hair  touch  her  lowered  cheek.  Cherry's 
body  gave  a  jerk,  a  slightly  increased  pressure :  then  the 
pressure  died.  The  caressing  life  went  out  of  their  con- 
tact. They  were  two  people  in  sundered  moods  once 
again.  At  last  Cherry  raised  her  head,  and  their  eyes 
met.  A  very  sad  expression  overspread  Cherry's  face, 
and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  I  know  I'm  an  awful  beast,"  she  whispered. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  you  are  rather  a  beast,"  Marian 
said. 

"  But  you  can  be,  too,"  urged  Cherry. 

"  Not  such  a  mischievous  beast." 

"Or  so  unhappy.  ..."  It  was  pleading.  Again 
Marian  was  brought  up  against  that  confident  faith  in  her 
inability  to  feel — she,  whose  whole  life  was  feeling!  So 
it  had  always  been ;  so  it  would  always  be.  Indignantly, 
she  responded : 

"Of  course  I  never  have  anything  to  make  me  un- 
happy."    Her  voice  was  rough  with  pain. 

"  Only  me,"  whispered  Cherry.  "  And  I  don't  mean 
to  do  it." 

Marian  started.  She  looked  at  the  white  face  close 
to  her  own. 

"  Cherry,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Cherry's  cheek  was  against  hers,  a  soft  cheek  like 
the  petal  of  a  rose. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Only  that 
I'm  a  beast,  and  can't  help  being  a  beast.  Sometimes  I 
try  so  hard — really,  I  do,  Marian.  And  then  .  .  ." — 
her  voice  sank  still  lower — "  then  I  don't  try  so  very 
hard    ..." 

"  And  you  expect  me  to  go  on  loving  you?" 

Cherry's  eyes  were  closed  for  an  instant.     Marian 


BETRAYAL  267 

felt  her  head  shake,  and  again  the  penitent  touch  of  her 
soft  cheek. 

"  No  I  don't.  ..."  She  pulled  sharply  away.  Her 
voice  changed,  hardened.  "  I  don't  deserve  it.  I  wish 
I  did." 

"  If  you  tried  hard  enough   ..." 

Again  that  shaken  head,  that  muffled  tone,  almost 
despairing. 

"  I  can't.  It's  no  good.  I  just  can't."  Urgently,  came 
the  whisper:  "  What's  the  matter  with  me?  " 

It  was  Marian's  turn  to  sigh. 

"  You  want  a  good  whipping,"  she  said,  fiercely,  trying 
to  speak  in  a  joking  way,  and  most  lamentably  failing. 
"  A  good  whipping  and  punishment.  .  .  .  And  not  all 
this  petting  and  wheedling  and  philandering  and  folly." 
Emotion  had  carried  her  indictment  beyond  what  she  had 
meant.    Her  heart  was  plunging. 

'Philandering!"  cried  Cherry,  kneeling  directly  up- 
right. "  Marian !  "  Then  her  body  relaxed.  She  seemed 
to  kneel,  crumpled,  upon  the  floor.  Her  hands  were 
raised  to  her  face.  Almost  weeping,  she  demanded,  in 
a  murmur:  "You  think  that  of  me?  " 

"  Are  you  so  ignorant  of  what  you  do?  "  Still  Marian 
was  accusing. 

"Oh,  .  .  .  but  ..."  Cherry  seemed  to  be  in  a 
dream.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  her  fingers  were  spread 
over  her  eyes,  as  though  they  burned  unbearably. 
;*  Marian,  d'you  suppose  I've  got  no  heart?" 

'  Vanity,  perhaps,"  Marian  said,  with  bitter  sadness. 
"  How  much  love  do  you  give  ?  How  much  love,  when 
it  means  sacrifice?  None.  You  take — yes!  But 
give.  .  .  .  What  can  you  bear  to  give?  When  love  is 
all  giving!     You're  selfish  and  thoughtless.   ..." 

"  From  you!  "    Cherry  was  chilled  with  horror. 

"Think.     It  was  you  who   ..."     Marian  checked 


268  SEPTEMBER 

her  tongue.  "  Listen,  Cherry.  When  you  came  to 
Hippeswell   ..." 

"I  know!  I  know!"  cried  Cherry.  She  knelt  again 
by  Marian's  side. 

"  You  came  back  to  London.  You  met  Nigel 
Sinclair " 

"  Nigel !    Oh,  Marian "    It  was  a  sob,  a  sigh.    Still 

the  indictment  continued. 

"  You  saw  him  constantly.  You  urged  him  to  say 
nothing  to  me  about  your  meetings." 

"  That's  not  true.    Can  you  think  I'm  so  treacherous !  " 

"  You've  driven  him  into  the  army  through  your 
vanity." 

"  No,  no.  .  .  .  Marian  I  can't  bear  it.  I  can't  bear 
it!"  The  white  face  was  very  close  to  Marian's  own; 
and  Cherry's  eyes  were  staring  with  horror.  "  I  never 
did  that." 

"You've  deceived  me;  you've  thought  only  of  your- 
self  ..." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  deceive  you.  I  didn't  think  of  it. 
I'm  thoughtless,  but  I'm  not  wicked.  I  was  going  to  tell 
you  when  Howard  came  into  the  room.  And  I  haven't 
driven  Nigel  into  any  action  at  all.    Why,  how  could  I  ?  " 

"  He's  going  into  the  army." 

"  Not  through  me." 

"  You  urged  him  to  it.  D'you  think  I  don't  know  ? 
Not  from  any  motive  but  your  own  vanity." 

Chokingly,  the  words  of  both  were  mingled  in  a  single 
protest — the  one  at  such  conduct,  the  other  at  such  an 
accusation.  Both  were  now  silent,  breathing  quickly, 
both  in  passionate  turmoil. 

"  I  think  you  must  hate  me,"  Cherry  said,  half-crying; 
her  voice  a  wail,  her  eyes  brimming  with  tears.  She,  it 
seemed,  could  in  her  turn  accuse. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  answered  Marian,  frankly,  and  with 


BETRAYAL  269 

none  of  the  venom  she  had  been  feeling.     "  Sometimer." 
It  seemed  like  a  revelation. 

vi 

Thereafter,  they  both  became  more  composed,  and 
spoke  in  ordinary  voices.  It  was  as  if  they  were  two 
ladies  at  tea.  Their  chat  upon  ordinary  topics  lasted  for 
fully  ten  minutes.    Then  Cherry  made  preparations  to  go. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  know  me  any  more," 
she  said,  in  her  hoarse  little  voice  of  humility.  "  As 
you  think  I'm  ...  all  that  you've  said."  She  was 
now,  at  last,  speaking  from  heart  to  heart,  without  dis- 
guise, and  quite  ingenuously  appealing  for  belief  in  her 
own  honesty. 

"  If  what  I've  said  isn't  true,"  answered  Marian, 
steadily,  "you  can  show  me  that  it's  not.  I  don't 
quarrel  with  people." 

"  You  just  drop  them."  It  was  a  sharp  retort,  won 
from  a  deeply  wounded  pride. 

Marian  shook  her  head.  Was  she  so  misjudged  ?  Did 
Cherry  only  think  her  so  cold? 

"  I'm  too  fond  of  you  to  do  that,"  she  said,  in  a  sober 
way.  In  the  end,  she  could  still  not  bear  that  Cherry 
should  remain  ignorant  of  her  love,  of  her  chagrined  and 
thwarted  love. 

"Marian!  Are  you  fond  of  me?"  Cherry  took  an 
impulsive  step.  "  It's  splendid  of  you  to  be.  You  know 
.  .  .  I'm  very  fond  of  you.  I  don't  know  anybody  like 
you.  Do  let  me  say  it.  I  couldn't  hate  you,  even  after 
what  you've  said." 

Marian  looked  steadily  at  her;  but  Cherry's  response 
was  equally  steady.  When  they  kissed,  Cherry's  arm 
stole  up  to  Marian's  shoulders,  and  two  small  sobs  were 
heard  before  an  entirely  composed  young  woman  drew 
away,  and  went  to  the  door.    Again  Marian  had  been  the 


270  SEPTEMBER 

only  person  in  the  world  to  see  Cherry's  heart.  Again 
she  had  been  conquered  by  Cherry.  And  her  feeling  was 
comparable  to  that  which  she  would  have  had  after  a 
heavy  thunderstorm.  Alone,  she  folded  her  arms.  The 
agony  was  allayed.  Not  so  the  steadily  realistic  knowl- 
edge of  life  and  character. 


CHAPTER  VIII:  THE  LOVER 


FOR  a  week  Marian  saw  and  heard  nothing  of  either 
Xigel  or  Cherry.  The  war  was  beginning  to  take 
sterner  hold  of  everybody.  She  could  not  go  out  in  the 
streets  without  seeing  flaming  placards ;  her  acquaintances 
talked  of  nothing  else;  Howard  returned  from  his  office 
at  night  with  a  sombre  thoughtfulness  unlike  his  custo- 
mary manner.  He  heard  all  the  rumours,  and  now,  sig- 
nificantly, bought  many  newspapers,  striving  to  grasp  the 
issues  and  the  details  of  the  spreading  campaign.  He  was 
considerably  quietened.  She  thought  him  improved. 
More  and  more  he  relied  upon  her,  because  he  respected 
her  judgment.  There  was  something  in  his  way  of  look- 
ing at  her,  and  speaking,  that  began  to  impress  Marian 
as  extraordinarily  pathetic.  After  the  first  weeks  of 
wildness,  he  had  done  one  thing  which  many  of  his  age 
had  failed  to  do — he  had  kept  his  head.  He  did  not  exag- 
gerate the  German  wickedness,  and  yet  he  did  not  mini- 
mise it  either.  He  was  neither  chauvinist  or  pacifist ;  but 
revealed  a  patience  and  a  power  to  conceive  a  vast  threat 
to  humanity  which  Marian  had  not  expected.  The  fact 
that  he  did  this,  and  that  he  was  back  again  at  her  side, 
without  demonstrativeness  or  sentimentality,  made 
Marian's  lot  much  easier.  Insensibly  she  too  turned  a 
little,  and  their  occasional  evenings  together,  although  not 
exhilarating,  were  at  least  tolerable  and  friendly. 

But  for  this  spirit  of  understanding,  Marian  would 
have  been  unable  to  endure  her  situation  of  uncertainty. 
She  felt  she  had  lost  touch  with  Nigel,  and  was  restrained 

271 


272  SEPTEMBER 

from  making  any  attempt  to  recover  the  old  pleasure  in 
him  by  a  despairing  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  best  for 
Nigel  to  drift  away  from  her,  and  into  other  relation- 
ships. If  she  had  thought  them  always  wise  or  desirable 
— she  felt, — she  would  have  welcomed  them.  But  she 
could  not  do  that.  At  the  back  of  everything,  she  wanted 
to  be  the  one  woman  in  his  life.  It  was  her  dream.  She 
could  not  yet  face  any  alternative.  Some  day — yes,  but 
how  vaguely  distant  that  day  was  in  her  thoughts !  She 
realised  that  the  situation  between  them  could  not  con- 
tinue. She  knew  that  there  was  some  change  in  him. 
But  she  knew,  from  herself,  how  one  may  shrink  from 
one  beloved,  and  seemed  wholly  to  have  ceased  to  love, 
until  one  day,  unexpectedly,  the  old  flame  revives  and 
burns  suddenly  into  a  conflagration.  It  was  so  with  her- 
self; it  might  be  so  with  Nigel.  Love  never  died.  It 
was  sometimes  clouded,  quiescent,  diverted  elsewhere; 
but  it  was  inextinguishable.  Lovers  could  never  be  in- 
different. The  intimacy,  often  obscured  though  it  might 
be  by  passion  and  perversity,  could  not  be  utterly  can- 
celled.   Marian  waited,  trusting  Nigel. 

ii 

She  heard  nothing  of  his  enlistment;  so  she  believed 
he  had  not  enlisted.  If  he  had  done  so  he  would  in  any 
case  have  come  to  tell  her.  That  was  quite  certain.  The 
knowledge  enabled  her  to  avoid  the  tremors  belonging 
to  the  dread  of  his  danger.  If  he  had  been  ill,  she  thought 
she  would  have  heard.  Marian  reassured  herself,  being 
very  patient,  and  hoping  all  the  time,  with  a  hope  now 
almost  entirely  restrained,  that  he  would  come  again  to 
see  her.  Only  occasionally,  when  the  longing  for  him 
was  very  acute,  did  she  lose  self-control,  and  find  such 
waiting  a  nervous  trial  well-nigh  insupportable.  Each 
day  she  stayed  indoors  waiting  for  him  to  come.    What 


THE  LOVER  273 

else  could  she  do?  She  was  committed  to  friendship; 
she  could  make  no  claim  upon  him;  she  must  suffer  and 
endure. 

And  Nigel  did  not  come  until  a  week  had  passed. 
Finally  he  came  at  night,  after  dinner,  when  Howard 
had  gone  out  in  the  heavily  darkened  streets.  Marian 
sat  alone,  reading.  Without  warning,  the  door  was 
opened,  and  Edith  said,  in  an  odd,  breathless  tone,  "  Mr. 
Sinclair,  ma'am." 

Although  she  had  been  reading,  Marian  had  not  been 
following  the  words  in  her  book.  She  had  been  making 
her  own  story,  which  was  one  of  memories.  At  the  name, 
she  thought  herself  dreaming,  so  deep  in  reverie  had  she 
been ;  and  for  a  moment  she  did  not  look  up.  When  she 
did  so,  she  started  vehemently  to  her  feet,  all  the  blood 
gone  from  her  cheeks,  and  her  hand  at  her  breast.  The 
Nigel  she  saw  was  not  the  Nigel  she  knew.  He  was 
another  man  altogether.  Her  dream  was  rent  suddenly. 
Nigel  was  in  uniform:  he  stood  erect,  but  his  head  was 
bowed,  and  his  face  was  of  a  deathly  pallor.  Marian 
stared  at  him  unbelievingly.  He  was  like  some  terrible 
spectre  from  German  romance.  She  could  not  think  it 
Nigel.  A  shudder  went  through  her  body.  Then,  con- 
trolling herself  very  tensely,  she  opened  her  lips. 

"  Are  you  real? "  she  whispered.  "  I'm  not 
dreaming!  " 

•  •  • 

in 

Nigel  came  towards  her,  into  the  ray  of  the  light. 

"  Quite  real,"  he  said ;  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  But  you're  ill !  "  She  caught  his  hand.  "  My  dear, 
why  did  you  do  it?  " 

"Oh,  that  ..."  He  motioned  to  show  that  she 
was  wrong.  "  I'm  perfectly  well,  and  this  stuff  hasn't 
any  effect  on  me.    I've  simply  been  trolleying  round.    I'm 


274  SEPTEMBER 

not  posted  to  a  unit  yet,  and  I'm  still  waiting  for  orders. 
You  didn't  get  a  letter  from  me?  " 

Marian  shook  her  head.  She  was  still  holding  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  her  agitation  had  not  subsided. 
She  could  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"  Then  why  are  you  ill  ?  "  She  was  insistent,  her  eyes 
giving  him  no  escape.  Their  faces  were  near;  he  was 
hers — so  entirely  readable  that  she  could  not  doubt  her 
knowledge.  A  painful  chill  touched  her  heart,  for  she 
read  ever  more  and  more,  a  lesson  that  her  self  refused 
to  accept.  She  read  that  he  did  not  love  her  at  all.  It 
was  a  terrible  realisation.  All  her  penetration  was  at 
work,  sting-like  in  its  sharpness.  He  did  not  love  her. 
More  than  that   .    .    . 

"  I'm  not  ill,"  said  Nigel.  "  It  must  be  the  light.  I'm 
dazed  by  it.  The  streets  are  so  dark.  It's  very  bright 
in  here." 

Marian  hushed  him. 

"  Nigel,  my  dear  .  .  .  It's  no  good  saying  that. 
You've  come  from  somewhere.  You're  in  some  distress. 
Do  you  think  I  can't  understand  and  sympathise  ?  Why 
..."  She  grew  suddenly  full  of  arrogance  that  swept 
into  defiant  pride.  "  Why,  you've  only  to  tell  me,  and 
the  pain  will  grow  less." 

Nigel  said  something  that  she  could  not  hear.  It  was 
"  No,  no  " — the  merest  murmur  of  refusal.  Their  hands 
dropped  apart ;  but  only  for  a  moment,  for  they  were  too 
close  together  not  to  make  some  contact  inevitable  in  this 
instant  of  stress.  Nigel  began  to  speak,  while  Marian, 
anguished  but  happy  in  his  proximity,  listened,  her  face 
the  inscrutable  face  of  the  mother  and  wife  and  lover. 

"  I'd  really  made  up  my  mind  when  I  was  here  last.  I 
didn't  want  to  blurt  it  out  too  definitely,  in  case  it  should 
be  a  terrible  shock  to  you." 

"  Yet  you  come  now  in  uniform!  "  whispered  Marian, 


THE  LOVER  275 

marvelling  at  the  ways  of  the  young,  who  thus  so  mag- 
nificently commend  themselves  for  an  instance  of  ancient 
thought  fulness. 

"  But  I'd  decided.  That  was  finished,  d'you  see.  I 
wanted  you  to  approve." 

"  You  thought  I  could  do  that?  " 

"  You  know  how  much  your  approval  means  to  me. 
You've  been  so  wonderfully  kind.  But  I  wrote  to  you 
when  I'd  actually  done  the  thing.  It's  strange  you  haven't 
had  the  letter.    Are  you  sure  it  didn't  come?  " 

"  Quite  sure."  Marian  was  still  seeing  right  past  this 
talk,  down  into  his  true  self,  with  arch,  motherly  eyes 
that  were  full  of  grief. 

"  I've  only  been  in  uniform  a  couple  of  days.  I'm  at 
large  until  I  get  a  telegram.  Then  I  go  to  some  camp,  I 
suppose;  and  just  learn  to  be  a  soldier    ..." 

Marian  waited  long  after  his  voice  had  dwindled  into 
silence. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  That's  not  really  what  you 
want  to  tell  me,  is  it  ?  " 

iv 

"  No,"  said  Nigel.  "  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  any- 
thing more." 

"  You're  making  me  seem  importunate.  D'you  think 
I'm  not  interested,  or  trustworthy?  D'you  think  I'm 
inquisitive?  I  only  want  to  know  what  is  hurting  you, 
because  I'm  your  friend;  and  what  hurts  you  also  hurts 
me.    You  believe  that?  " 

"  Yes,"  Nigel  agreed.  "  I  believe  that.  I  trust  you 
altogether,  Marian." 

He  left  her  side,  his  hands  jerked  out  from  his  body, 
and  his  head  back.  The  white  face  gleamed  in  the  bright- 
ness of  the  room,  and  his  teeth  glistened. 

"  Why  is  it,"  he  went  on,  "  that  one  trusts  and  trusts 


276  SEPTEMBER 

some  people,  and  loves  them;  and  that  one  isn't  sure  of 
others,  and  loves  them  also?  " 

"And  loves  them  .  .  .  more?"  asked  Marian,  in  a 
thrilling  voice.  She  too  was  at  her  full  height,  but  with 
her  face  in  shadow,  thankfully.  She  watched  him  as  he 
stood  unconscious  in  the  light,  so  that  the  painful  droop 
of  his  lips  was  unhidden.  Nigel  turned  at  that,  his 
cheeks  flushing. 

"More?"  he  asked.  "How  can  I  tell?  I'm  so 
puzzled,  so  .  .  .  Marian,  I  don't  know  what  to  say, 
or  to  think.  I'm  absolutely  at  a  loss,  so  that  I  feel  like 
some  callow  boy  who  hasn't  got  his  bearings  right.  I 
nearly  asked  you  something  I'd  no  right  to  do." 

"  You  might  have  asked  me  anything,"  said  Marian. 

"It's  for  you  to  answer  or  not?  Yes."  He  flushed 
very  deeply.  "  You  see,  I  couldn't.  I  know  I  couldn't. 
It's  a  point  of  taste.  The  reason  I'm  so  bewildered  is 
that — well,  when  somebody  has  made  a  thing  seem  clear, 
and  then  it's  suddenly  dark   ..." 

Marian  smiled  at  his  allusiveness. 

"  You'll  have  to  be  more  explicit  than  that,"  she  said. 
"  If  you  want  me  to  understand." 

Nigel  stopped  short,  looked  at  her  and  turned  on  his 
heel. 

"  You're  laughing  at  me,"  he  cried. 

"  No.  Only  at  myself,"  Marian  said,  very  gravely. 
1  Tell  me  straight  out.    Why  can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  then  stammered  a  little  before  speaking. 

"  You  see,  it's  rather  difficult.     I  feel  embarrassed." 

"  Because  you're  talking  to  me — to  a  woman — to  any- 
body?" 

"  To  you.  Marian  ...  I  thought  she  was  fond  of 
me.  I  asked  her  to-night  to  marry  me.  She  won't.  It's 
been  a  shock." 

Marian  stood  quite  still,  frozen ;  although  she  had  from 


THE  LOVER  277 

the  first  known  what  he  would  say.  Then,  from  between 
lips  that  were  stiff  and  painful  simply  because  she  could 
not  otherwise  keep  her  voice  steady,  she  asked : 

"  But  do  I  know  who  '  she  '  is?  " 

Nigel  started  in  surprise.     She  saw  his  jaw  drop. 

"  Don't  you?  "  he  asked.    "  Why,  it's  Cherry." 


Marian  trembled.    But  she  went  ruthlessly  on. 

"  What  made  you  think  I  knew  ?  What  made  you 
think  she  loved  you?" 

"  I  thought  you  knew  because  you  asked  me  about  her 
the  other  day.  I  thought  she  loved  me  .  .  .  well,  how 
can  one  analyse  it?     Is  it  such  colossal  vanity?  " 

"  None,  of  course."  Marian's  nostrils  were  pinched. 
How  dare  Cherry  refuse  him!  "All  the  same,  I  didn't 
know."  She  could  not  see  him  for  the  darkness  that  was 
about  her  spirit.  She  was  cloaked  in  it.  She  was  chok- 
ing.   Out  of  the  darkness  she  heard  Nigel  protest: 

"You're  cold  to  me  now.  You're  not  sympathetic. 
You  said  you  were  sympathetic." 

"  You're  too  sensitive,  Nigel,"  she  said  very  drily,  with 
a  sort  of  contempt.  "  I'm  not  cold  to  you.  I'm  sorry  for 
your  unhappiness;  but  you  don't  know  Cherry,  or  under- 
stand her.    You  don't  trust  her  ..." 

"  I  do  trust  her."  His  voice  was  sharply  passionate,  so 
that  she  knew  how  deep  his  wound  was.  "  At  least," 
Nigel  hesitated.  "  I  did.  Now  I  don't  understand 
her." 

"  That's  probably  just  what  she  wants,"  said  Marian, 
cruelly.  "  What  she's  planned.  You  must  remember 
that  a  young  girl's  vanity  is  her  only  guide.  Is  she  sure 
of  you?" 

"  In  what  sense?" 

"  Can  you  give  her  up?  " 


278  SEPTEMBER 

Nigel  stood  for  some  time  in  thought. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  Well  then,  you  must  try  again." 

"  I'm  going  away.  I  may  never  come  back  to  London. 
Or  if  I  do  it  may  be  for  forty-eight  hours  only.  It's  over. 
I've  lost  her.  She's  not  mine.  No,  Marian;  it's  no 
good.  And  yet  it  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world 
to  me." 

"  Marian  nodded.  How  odd  that  she  should  still  be 
cool,  when  she  loved  him  so  much,  and  when  she  had  all 
this  while  believed  him  to  be  as  ardently  her  lover !  How 
odd!  And  she  could  hear  this,  and  speak  of  his  love  for 
Cherry,  without  screaming.  No  wonder  they  all  sup- 
posed her  inhuman!  Then  she  sat  down  in  her  chair, 
just  as  Howard  came  into  the  room,  returned  from  his 
constitutional  in  the  black  streets. 

"  Hullo,  Sinclair!  "  he  said.    "  So  you're  in  uniform." 

"  You  see  me,"  harshly  replied  Nigel. 

The  two  men  stood  contrasted  before  Marian.  They 
were  wholly  different.  The  one  she  loved,  the  one  she 
knew  and  did  not  love.  It  was  Howard  who  glanced 
uneasily  sideways  for  her  approval.  Nigel  was  absorbed 
in  his  own  trouble,  conscious  only  of  an  affronting  ques- 
tion, and  of  his  pain  and  humiliation.  And  for  the  first 
time  the  hostility  between  them  was  palpably  Nigel's. 
How  much  had  Nigel  seen  at  Hippeswell  between  How- 
ard and  Cherry?  That  was  another  insoluble  problem 
for  her  tired  brain. 

Marian  sank  back  in  her  chair,  exhausted.  She  was 
almost  fainting.  The  room  and  the  scene  receded;  the 
men's  voices  were  an  indistinct  hum.  She  closed  her 
eyes.  Whatever  happened,  she  must  appear  unmoved, 
imperturbable.  What  must  she  do?  And  Cherry? 
Something,  it  was  clear,  lay  before  her,  if  it  were  only 
more  suffering  than  she  had  already  endured.     Once 


THE  LOVER  279 

more  Cherry  was  an  enigma  which  Marian  alone  could 
penetrate. 

vi 

For  a  time  Marian  continued  in  this  languorous 
stupor,  lost  to  all  but  the  faintest  sense  of  her  surround- 
ings. At  first  it  seemed  to  her  that  death — quick,  silent 
death — was  the  only  possible  end  to  her  pain,  and  in  that 
thought  she  found  understanding  of  those  who,  reaching 
an  apparently  inextricable  tangle  in  the  skein  of  life, 
choose  desperately  to  destroy  themselves.  Then,  it  was 
not  death,  but  numbness,  safe  retreat,  that  Marian 
needed.  She  could  bear  no  more.  She  shrank  from  life. 
Her  spirit  was  no  longer  staunch,  but  feeble  and  corrupt 
through  the  strain  to  which  it  had  been  subjected.  She 
was  ill  and  hopeless,  kept  conscious  by  sheer  incessant 
effort  of  will.  Her  head  was  burning.  Pride  alone  sup- 
ported her. 

Until  the  parting  with  Nigel  came  she  remained  in 
this  lethargic  and  despairing  state  of  suspended  anima- 
tion.    Then,  disregarding  Howard,  she  said  earnestly: 

"  Nigel,  I'll  write  to  you.  I  may  be  able  to  suggest 
something.  Give  me  your  address.  Write  it  down." 
He  did  so,  and  she  had  to  turn  aside  because  his  lowered 
head  aroused  such  physical  longing  to  press  it  in  con- 
solation and  farewell  to  her  breast.  As  she  took  the 
paper  she  glanced  at  it,  and  added,  composedly:  "Oh, 
quite  near.    So  much  the  better." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Nigel  went.  Howard,  on 
returning  to  the  room,  picked  up  the  paper  upon  which 
the  address  had  been  written,  and  read  it.  He  made  no 
comment,  but  shot  a  shrewd  glance  at  Marian.  She, 
turned  sick  and  trembling,  had  her  hand  upon  the  mantel- 
piece, steadying  herself.  She  had  borne  too  much.  The 
effort  to  be  calm  to  the  last  had  been  too  exacting.    A 


280  SEPTEMBER 

deadly  sickness  came  upon  her,  and  the  room  rose  and 
fell  in  dreadful  waves  before  her  eyes.  Long,  long 
waves  of  emptiness  and  horror. 

At  last  she  could  stand  no  more.  Still  struggling  to 
appear  ordinary  and  unmoved,  she  said,  as  distinctly  as 
her  tongue  would  allow  : 

"  Howard,  I  wonder  if  you  could  get  me  a  glass  of 
water.    I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  faint.    Silly  of  me." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Marian  felt  her  knees  lurch.  All 
before  her  became  a  mist.  Thereafter  she  knew  nothing 
until  she  found  herself  lying  upon  her  bed,  feebly  and 
reassuringly  smiling,  with  Howard's  arm  still  under  her 
shoulders,  and  his  face  very  close  to  her  own. 


CHAPTER  IX:  CONFESSION 


THE  next  morning,  Howard  came  into  Marian's 
room  before  she  was  up,  and  her  heart  softened  at 
the  sight  of  his  great  red  face,  with  its  expression  of 
anxious  care.  He  was  evidently  much  perturbed  at  the 
state  of  her  health,  and  was  very  serious. 

"  How  are  you  this  morning,  old  girl  ? "  he  asked, 
patting  her  hand  with  his  big  fingers.  "Better?  Any- 
thing you'd  like  ?  " 

"Quite  well  to-day,  thank  you."  She  smiled  cheer- 
ingly  at  him,  not  realising  that  her  cheeks  were  almost 
as  white  as  the  pillow-slip. 

"  Nothing  you  want?    I  shouldn't  gtt  up." 

"  I  shall  rest  a  little;  but  I'm  really  all  right  again." 

"  You  don't  look  it,"  said  Howard,  bluntly.  He  sat 
on  the  side  of  the  bed.  "  Have  you  been  feeling  rocky? 
I  noticed  the  other  day  you  weren't  quite  up  to  the  mark." 
He  began  to  dig  his  heels  into  the  rug  beside  her  bed. 
"  I  say,  is  London  a  bit  too  much  for  you?  Would  you 
like  to  get  away?    Or  go  home?  " 

It  was  Marian's  turn  to  pat  his  hand.  Howard's 
awkward  gentleness  was  very  genuine,  and  rather  beauti- 
ful in  its  humility.  She  could  not  fail  to  be  touched  and 
responsive. 

"  It's  jolly  of  you,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  hadn't  thought 
about  it.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  nuisance  to  you?  I  mean, 
what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  come  back  with  you.     If  you  go  to 

281 


282  SEPTEMBER 

Hippeswell.    And  come  up  during  the  week.    Just  as  in 
summer-time.    It's  perfectly  easy  to  manage." 

'  You  want  to  go  back?  We've  just  come  to  London. 
It's  not  a  fortnight." 

:*  I  want  you  to  be  well.  And  the  circumstances  are 
unusual.  The  only  trouble  is  .  .  .  well,  we  won't  go 
into  that.    It's  a  war  consideration." 

"  Better  tell  me,"  she  urged.    Howard  reflected. 

"Yes,  you're  not  a  fool,"  he  admitted.  "I  don't 
believe  it;  but  scaremongers  are  talking  about  the  possi- 
bility of  invasion.  That  would  be  on  the  East  Coast. 
We  might  suddenly  have  to  cut  and  run.  I  don't  think 
there's  real  danger  of  it.    Lots  of  reasons." 

"  I'd  rather  be  there,"  Marian  said. 

"  Then  we'll  go.  Tell  Edith.  She  won't  like  giving 
up  and  going  back  to  work  under  Blanche.  She  likes 
being  parlourmaid-in-chief."  He  was  talking  quite 
lightly,  in  spite  of  his  solemn  face.  "  I'm  glad  you  feel 
like  going." 

"  Give  me  another  week,"  begged  Marian. 

Howard  grew  uneasy.  She  saw  a  curious  expression 
gather.  Then  he  shrugged  and  stood  upright.  Turning 
quickly  he  bobbed  his  head.  She  felt  his  moustache 
brushing  her  face,  and  his  lips  upon  her  cheek. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  rather  awkwardly,  and  with  red- 
dening cheeks  from  the  premeditated  bob.  "  You  shall 
decide." 

Then  he  left  Marian,  who  still  smiled  rather  ruefully 
at  the  caress.  She  pressed  her  hands  together,  so  that 
her  knuckles  hurt. 

"Oh,  Nigel,  Nigel!"  she  whispered.  "How  could 
you !  "  It  was  her  first  reproach.  Then,  as  her  thoughts 
went  on,  she  framed  words :  "  You  couldn't  keep  him. 
You're  too  old.  A  woman  can't  keep  a  young  man's 
love."     Passionately,  she  rebelled.     "  Why,  he  doesn't 


CONFESSION  283 

know  Cherry.  He  can't  know  her.  He's  charmed  by 
her  bad  traits.  She's  too  selfish  to  make  a  good  wife. 
She  loves  herself  first  .  .  .  always  herself  first.  Ah, 
but  she's  a  good  girl.     Is  she?  " 

Always  that  final  doubt  destroyed  her  belief.  Always 
it  threw  her  back  into  the  horror  which  she  had  felt  at 
Nigel's  change  towards  herself.  Marian  could  not  be 
anything  but  bitter.  Her  justice  to  Cherry  was  wilful 
and  deliberate  justice,  not  the  natural  outpouring  of  love 
that  was  trust.  She  knew  that  Nigel's  was  tantalised 
love,  love  of  youth  for  youth,  feverish,  perverse.  It  was 
nature;  just  as  her  own  love  was  nature.  It  was  inex- 
plicable— merely  the  magnetic  attraction  of  two  bodies; 
not  at  all  the  harmony  of  two  temperaments.  Not  love 
as  she  knew  it;  not  the  instinct  of  common  sacrifice.  She 
was  too  tired  to  explore  the  truth.  If  this  that  she 
thought  were  not  true,  it  must  lie  unchallenged,  and  for 
all  three  misery  must  be  the  sequel  in  the  kaledioscope 
of  love. 

ii 

Marian's  brain  kept  coming  round  to  one  point — that 
she  had  some  duty  to  perform.  Her  whole  nature 
rebelled  against  the  thought  of  any  duty;  but,  as  though 
her  brain  were  truly  the  voice  of  a  deeper  instinct  than 
the  rebellious,  she  could  not  escape  from  a  sense  of  duty 
to  both  Nigel  and  Cherry.  It  may  have  been  the  impulse 
to  give  Nigel  his  desire,  or  to  learn  the  truth,  or  to 
create  understanding  where  the  easy  path  lay  in  the  inac- 
tion which  would  produce  chaos.  But  she  was  resolved, 
while  yet  she  lay  in  the  silence  of  her  bedroom,  to  see 
Cherry  and  to  learn  what  might  be  done.  Why  had 
Cherry  refused  to  listen  to  Nigel?  Was  she,  after  all, 
a  mere  coquette?  Was  she  that  modern  girl  who  seeks 
to  carry  playtime  through  the  whole  of  life? 


284  SEPTEMBER 

Before  lunch  Marian  rose  and  dressed,  still  rather 
weak,  but  once  again  clear-headed  and  resolute.  She  no 
longer  thought  of  her  own  agony.  An  irresistible  hunger 
drove  her  out-of-doors,  and  to  the  Mants'  home.  At 
first  she  was  physically  so  feeble  that  she  could  not  walk 
at  more  than  a  slow  pace;  but  presently,  as  she  went 
forward  in  the  October  sunshine,  she  grew  stronger  and 
more  cheerful,  so  powerful  is  the  effect  of  a  clear  day 
and  a  fresh  wind.  For  one  thing  she  was  going  back  to 
Hippeswell :  for  another  she  was  quite  definitely  doing 
something  which  made  her  feel  at  peace  with  herself. 
Happiness,  said  the  ancient  philosopher,  is  a  state  of  the 
activity  of  the  soul,  conformably  with  virtue. 

iii 

When  she  arrived  at  the  Mants'  house  at  Chelsea  she 
was  recognised  by  the  maid  who  opened  the  door,  and 
who  smiled  shyly  in  welcome. 

"  I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Mant's  just  gone  out,  ma'am.  But 
Miss  Cherry's  in." 

"It's  Miss  Cherry  I  want  to  see,"  explained  Marian. 

It  was  thus  that  she  was  enabled  to  await  Cherry  and, 
with  a  quickly  beating  heart,  to  rise  as  she  heard  the  door 
open.  Cherry  came  slowly  and  dejectedly  into  the  room, 
closing  the  door  and  coming  coldly  to  greet  her  friend. 
There  were  no  words  spoken  at  all.  Cherry,  it  was  clear, 
remembered  only  the  painful  part  of  their  last  meeting; 
Marian  was  intent  upon  understanding  the  reasons  of 
Cherry's  refusal  of  Nigel. 

"  Mother's  out,"  at  last  said  Cherry,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  know.    I  came  to  see  you." 

"  You  shouldn't  have  done  that."  It  was  sad  rather 
than  ungracious. 

"  I  had  a  reason." 

Cherry  drew  up  a  chair  for  her  visitor,  and  sat  rather 


CONFESSION  285 

timidly  upon  the  edge  of  another.     She  was  constrained, 
as  one  who  dreads  what  is  to  come. 

'  I  feel  this  is  such  an  ugly  room  for  you  to  come  to," 
she  answered.  "  I'm  ashamed  for  you  to  see  it,  when 
your  own  rooms  are  so  nice." 

"  I  don't  like  mine.  Only  my  own  rooms  at  Hippes- 
well." 

'  They're  lovely.  I  looked  into  your  bedroom  one  day. 
It's  beautiful." 

'  Didn't  I  show  you  over  the  house  ?  You  must  see 
it  next  time  you  come." 

"  To  Hippeswell  ?    I  shall  never  come  again." 

'Yes.     I'm  going  back  there  next  week." 

"  Hippeswell  ?  You're  leaving  London  ?  "  Cherry  was 
aghast.  Uncontrollably,  she  continued,  amazed  at  her 
own  speech  :  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  without  you?  "  Tears 
were  in  her  voice. 

"  Come  to  Hippeswell  with  me,"  Marian  said,  in  her 
turn  amazed  at  a  folly.  Cherry  stared  at  her.  There  was 
an  astounded  silence.    Then  Cherry  exclaimed : 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Marian.  I  don't  know  you. 
I  can't  come  to  Hippeswell.  Surely  you  see  that.  It's 
unthinkable.  We  can't  go  on  .  .  .  knowing  each 
other.    Oh,  I've  quite  decided  that !  " 

'  But  you  wondered  what  you'd  do  if  I  went  away, 
Cherry!" 

"  Did  I  ?  "  Cherry  was  listless.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  with  unhappy  indifference. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  not  come.  And  yet,  if  you're 
unhappy,  I'd  like  to  have  you  there,  so  that  you  could 
be  cheered  up." 

"Who  says  I'm  unhappy?"  demanded  Cherry,  in  a 
rough  voice.     "  I'm  quite  happy." 

You're  not  happy.    You'd  be  happy  at  Hippeswell." 
With  you?     Oh  no!"     Cherry  shook  her  head  in 


a 


286  SEPTEMBER 

defiance.  "  It's  absurd."  Marian  continued  to  look  at 
her.  She  saw  the  little  brilliantly  birdlike  flight  of 
Cherry's  eyes  as  they  tried  in  vain  to  meet  that  glance. 
"  Please  .  .  .  please  don't  look  at  me,"  Cherry  gasped. 
"I'm  ..."  She  recovered  herself,  with  extraordinary 
self-control.  Marian  was  moved  to  something  more  than 
pity — to  admiration. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  help  you?  "  she  sharply  asked.  "  I 
want  to  help  you  so  much." 

"You  wouldn't.  If  you  knew,"  murmured  Cherry, 
her  head  down.  Marian  tried  again,  persuasively.  She 
knew  that  with  Cherry,  as  with  other  sensitive  people, 
sternness  failed,  but  kindness  was  always  a  passport  to 
their  own  honesty. 

"  Supposing  I  know  already,"  she  said.  Cherry 
started.  Then  she  was  cold  again,  cold  and  deliberate, 
with  a  chill  that  might  have  deceived  a  man. 

"What  do  you  know?"  she  demanded.  Marian  saw 
the  blue  eyes  quite  hard. 

"  Do  you  want  help,  and  happiness?  "  she  asked. 
Cherry's  eyelashes  flickered  again.    They  hid  her  eyes. 
She  was  deeply  moved. 

"  I  suppose  I  do,"  she  whispered.  "  I'm  human  enough 
for  that." 

"  Cherry,  are  you  in  love  with  Nigel?  It's  horrid  of 
me  to  ask;  but  I  must  know."  Marian's  voice  was 
trembling.     "  Forgive  me." 

A  quick,  an  electric  glance  came  from  eyes  that  were 
no  longer  hard. 

"  No,"  said  Cherry. 

Marian  waited  an  instant.    At  last  she  replied. 
"  I  don't  believe  you,"  she  retorted.     "  I  know  you 
better  than  to  believe  you." 


CONFESSION  287 


IV 


Cherry  tried  in  vain  to  hide  her  relief.  A  slow  crim- 
son came  into  her  cheeks  and  spread  to  her  brow  and 
neck.    Her  hands  fluttered  together. 

'  You  don't  know  me  at  all,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
.Marian  said  nothing  in  reply.  The  pause  lasted  a  per- 
ceptible space.  Twice  Cherry  was  about  to  add  some- 
thing. Marian  could  actually  see  the  child's  nervous  play 
of  expression  as  the  thoughts  flew  like  will-o'-the-wisps 
in  her  mind.  The  silence  became  distressing.  Marian 
could  not  have  borne  it  an  instant  longer,  when  Cherry, 
breathlessly,  made  her  counter-charge.  "  I  think  you're 
in  love  with  him  yourself,"  she  cried. 

Marian  took  a  deep  breath,  her  face  haggard. 

'  Is  that  why  you  refused  him?  "  she  asked,  suddenly 
gentle.  There  was  at  first  only  a  stubborn  compression 
of  the  lips  which  made  Cherry  look  vicious  and  obstinate. 
"  Is  it  ?  "  persisted  Marian.  She  caught  the  faintest  pos- 
sible sign  of  assent.  It  was  nothing;  it  was  gone  in  a 
flash ;  but  it  sufficed.  She  again  breathed  deeply,  thankful 
that  her  intuition  had  been  justified.  "  You  don't  think 
I  asked  out  of  curiosity,  Cherry  ...  Of  course  any 
idea  that  I'm  in  love  with  Nigel  is  ridiculous.  Women 
of  my  age  don't  fall  quickly  in  love.  Why,  he's  a  dozen 
years  younger  than  I  am.  How  absurd.  I  like  him 
very  much.     We're  friends    ..." 

"He  was  in  love  with  you,"  stabbed  Cherry,  pale  again. 

'  My  dear,  don't  make  yourself  unhappy  with  such  a 
notion." 

"  D'you  think  I  didn't  see  you  play  tennis  together, 
and  walk  together?  "  D'you  think  I  couldn't  understand 
the  way  you  talked  about  him  when  we  were  alone  to- 
gether ? '  It  was  still  a  defiance  that  was  offered. 
Cherry  was  brimming  with  scorn  at  a  falsehood. 


288  SEPTEMBER 

"  I  must  have  been  terribly  indiscreet,"  murmured 
Marian. 

"  Why,  you  first  taught  me  to  see  how  ..."  began 
Cherry  and  stopped  at  her  indiscretion. 

'How  wonderful  he  was?"  Marian  supplemented. 
"  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  so  glad  to  have  done  that.  Then, 
plunging  into  a  lie  that  was  almost  voluptuous  in  its 
magnitude,  she  continued.  "  I  wish  you  could  imagine 
how  happy  I  should  be  at  your  wedding." 

Again  Cherry  started,  and  reddened. 

"  You  won't  be  at  my  wedding.  It's  quite  out  of  the 
question.  I  couldn't  marry  him.  I  don't  really  care  for 
him.    It's  over.    We've  quarrelled." 

"You're  hurting  Nigel." 

Cherry  turned  in  sudden  fury. 

"Did  he  send  you?"  Instantly  she  cried:  "Oh,  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Marian." 

"  I  found  out.  He  didn't  come  to  me  to  blurt  out  the 
story.  I  told  him  to  try  again."  She  could  see  the  throb- 
bing of  Cherry's  breast.  "  I  think  he's  got  rather  a 
simple  nature,  Cherry.  I  think  you  have  to  play  very 
straight  all  the  time  with  him." 

Marian  rose  then,  and  adjusted  her  cloak,  which  she 
had  not  removed,  but  which  had  slipped  down  behind  her. 
Cherry  also  rose ;  but  her  face  had  clouded  again  to  sullen 
self-disguise.  Marian  peeped  to  see  if  there  lurked  an- 
other emotion;  but  as  she  did  not  observe  it  she  kissed 
the  cold  cheek  and  went  quickly  out  into  the  street  again, 
and  back  to  the  flat.  As  far  as  she  was  concerned  she 
had  learnt  the  one  essential  fact — that  Cherry's  action 
had  been  due  to  loyalty  to  herself.  Her  heart  sank  to 
even  greater  sadness,  because  her  further  duty  was  plain. 


CHAPTER  X:  THE  ERRAND 


WHEN  Marian  left  Cherry  she  had  formed  no  defi- 
nite plan;  but  walked  back  to  Sloane  Street  with 
a  determination  still  vague.  Now  that  she  had  learned 
the  truth  she  was  disposed  a  little  to  embroider  upon  it. 
Cherry  was  in  love;  and  she  had  denied  her  love  in  the 
first  beautiful  unselfishness  that  she  had  ever  known.  It 
was  a  loyalty  to  her  affection  to  Marian.  That,  whatever 
the  consequence,  gave  her  immediately  a  claim  upon 
Marian's  generosity.  It  was  a  key.  to  everything.  Ma- 
rian's jealousy  was  disarmed.  One  could  not  fight  a 
friend.  Cherry  also  had  seen  that.  But  Cherry,  being 
young,  could  not  pursue  a  gallant  lie  to  the  end.  Marian 
could.  Wanton  unselfishness,  the  relinquishment  of  a 
thing  as  so  much  sacrifice  for  its  own  sake,  seemed  to 
her  to  be  a  disgusting  morbidity.  But  to  secure  happi- 
ness for  another,  she  would  forego  any  satisfaction  in 
life.     It  was  not  merely  a  creed;  it  was  an  instinct. 

So  during  the  afternoon  Marian  wondered  what  she 
could  do.  She  was  resolved  upon  one  thing.  She  would 
stand  back;  but  first  she  would  bring  these  lovers  to  a 
clear  issue.  If  they  loved  each  other,  they  must  risk  the 
conflicting  foibles  incident  to  their  youth  and  tempera- 
ment. They  must  make  their  own  lives,  however  diffi- 
cult the  task  might  be.  When  she  thought  of  both,  so 
wilful,  so  high-spirited,  Marian  doubted  the  permanence 
of  their  love.  It  was  a  risk.  Well,  it  was  always  a  risk. 
Lovers  grew  together;  each  came  to  learn  the  secrets 
of  the  other's  natur"  and  to  conform  with  ease  to  the 

289 


290  SEPTEMBER 

other's  way  unconsciously,  and  merely  as  a  result  of  the 
common  association.  Cherry  and  Nigel  would  grow  no 
otherwise.  They  would  learn,  perhaps,  and  quarrel,  and 
part  and  return;  but  if  they  had  courage  they  would 
never  forsake  one  another. 

During  the  time  that  she  so  soberly  considered  the 
prospects  of  the  lovers,  Marian  forgot  herself.  She  was 
enjoying  the  delights  of  planning  the  lives  of  those  she 
loved,  and  seeing  them  in  pleasant  places,  happy  and 
beloved.  She  was  not  doing  this  ecstatically,  or  fatalistic- 
ally, but  was  knowing  that  a  marriage  is  very  much 
what  husband  and  wife  determine  to  make  it,  neither  a 
paralysis  nor  an  emancipation,  but  a  comradeship  and  an 
incessant  conflict  of  will  and  temperament.  She  was  not 
the  average  woman,  fanatical  for  a  mating;  she  desired 
the  true  happiness  (which  lay  in  increasing  life  and  un- 
derstanding) of  the  two  people  whom  she  loved,  as  she 
now  recognised,  better  than  any  others  in  the  world. 

ii 

At  first  Marian  thought  to  write  a  note  to  Nigel ;  but 
when  she  came  to  write  it  she  found  the  task  difficult. 
At  least  she  must  not  risk  the  suspicion  of  interference, 
she  must  not  make  Cherry  seem  too  easy.  If  there  had 
been  more  time,  and  if  Nigel  had  not  been  liable  for 
service,  she  would  have  done  nothing.  Or  she  would 
have  invited  them  both  to  dinner.  She  could  still  do  that, 
perhaps.  No:  it  would  look  too  planned.  Both  were 
tender,  capricious  .  .  .  The  vanity  of  both  was  so 
rampant,  that  any  suggestion  of  plan  would  possibly  drive 
them  apart.  They  might  drift,  lose  touch  and  interest, 
become  fearful.  Above  all,  Cherry  might  think  too 
much.  When  a  woman  thinks  too  much  before  marriage,  / 
she  may  ruin  her  life's  happiness.  Thought  is  for  later/ 
years.  / 


1 


THE  ERRAND  291 

So  Marian  must  act  otherwise.  She  must  write  to 
Nigel,  or  see  him.  She  tried  again  to  compose  a  letter 
which  should  urge  him  to  see  Cherry  again,  and  repeat 
his  proposal.  But  in  a  letter  she  could  not  invent  any 
reason  for  this  course.  She  could  only  say,  bluntly,  that 
Cherry  loved  him;  and  that  would  be  an  offence.  She 
could  not  betray  Cherry's  confidence,  even  in  such  an 
emergency.  It  would  not  do.  There  remained,  there- 
fore, only  one  course.  She  must  see  Nigel.  She  would 
write  asking  him  to  come  and  see  her.  That,  she  thought, 
in  a  melancholy  way,  could  not  now  be  misconstrued.  It 
was  not  as  her  lover  that  he  would  come.  What  a  fool 
she  had  been  to  suppose  it  ever  possible.  The  memory 
that  he  had  kissed  her  at  Hippeswell  scorched  Marian. 
The  memory  that  she  had  wanted  his  kisses.  The  knowl- 
edge that  she  still  coveted  them;  that  only  pride  would 
make  her  now  inexorably  refuse  them. 

She  took  a  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  the  note  to  Nigel. 
Then  she  put  it  into  the  bureau.  She  had  been  so  long 
in  thinking  over  her  plan  that  it  was  time  to  dress  for 
dinner.  While  she  was  dressing,  a  telegram  arrived  from 
Howard.  It  said  "  Not  home  to  dinner."  As  she 
crumpled  the  flimsy  paper,  Marian  had  an  inspiration. 
What  if  Nigel  also  had  received  a  telegram?  What  if 
her  message  arrived  too  late?  Nigel  would  go,  in  despair; 
he  would  not  see  Cherry ;  the  happiness  of  both  would 
be  interrupted,  and  a  crystallisation  averted.  A  terrible 
temptation  seized  her.  If  this  marriage  were  stopped ! 
If  Nigel,  despairing  of  Cherry,  turned  again  to  her,  as 
he  might  do!  She  saw  a  precarious  happiness  snatched 
from  disaster.  Closing  her  eyes  she  could  glimpse  a 
future  of  hurried  meetings,  of  untranquil  love.  Her  body 
was  shaken  with  a  sudden  passion,  and  a  knowledge  of 
what  might  ensue. 

What  restrained  her?     Men  were  caught  so.     It  was 


292  SEPTEMBER 

the  easiest  thing.  Disappointed,  they  responded  to  the 
ugly  cajolery  of  the  women  who  loved  them  with  such 
sick  craving  as  hers.  There  followed — what?  A  kind 
of  wanton  passion,  a  kind  of  satisfaction  that  was  no 
satisfaction.  Gratification  that  was  only  tantalising. 
Marian  shuddered  deeply.  She  was  tempted  and  self- 
scornful.  Say  she  could  have  Nigel — upon  what  terms 
would  it  be  ?  Always  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  his 
true  love.  Always  her  thought,  her  longing,  for  him; 
and  his  heart  never  hers.  No :  she  could  not  bear  it. 
Better  far  that  she  should  irrevocably  lose  him  than  that 
she  should  have  this  hot  late  summer  of  passion,  with  its 
stale  sequel  of  unwanted  pursuit.  She  would  become  a 
base  creature,  perpetually  offering  love  that  had  grown 
tiresome  and  disgusting.  The  storm  had  shaken  her; 
and  she  stood  upright  against  its  further  onslaught. 
Nigel  must  marry  Cherry.  It  was  better.  Oh,  far  better. 
She  knew  at  last  what  to  do.  She  would  go,  after 
dinner,  to  see  Nigel.  In  that  way  she  would  be  sure  of 
finding  him  and  of  putting  an  end  to  her  temptation. 

iii 
At  night  Marian  again  set  out  into  the  dark  streets, 
so  feebly  lighted  that  she  could  not  at  first  pursue  a 
straight  course.  There  was  a  high  wind,  and  a  few  drops 
of  rain  scattered  occasionally  about  her.  In  leaving  the 
house  it  seemed  to  her  once  that  she  heard  her  name 
called ;  but  the  wind  was  so  strong,  and  her  state  of  mind 
such,  that  she  supposed  it  to  be  an  illusion  due  to  her 
overwrought  nerves.  She  did  not  turn,  but  walked  very 
swiftly  onward,  towards  Nigel's  flat.  Once  she  lost  her 
way  in  the  turnings  of  the  streets,  but  presently,  reviving 
her  knowledge  of  the  address  by  a  glance  at  the  paper 
which  lay  within  her  corsage,  went  on  again,  intent  upon 
her  errand.     She  heard  a  clock  strike  nine,  and  she  hur- 


THE  ERRAND  293 

ried  faster.  The  rain  began  to  patter  upon  the  pave- 
ments ;  the  wind  dropped  a  little,  and  came  in  great  gusts. 

At  first,  when  she  reached  Nigel's  flat,  Marian  feared 
that  he  must  be  out,  for  it  was  all  in  darkness ;  but  at  her 
ring  a  light  flashed,  and  his  shadow  immediately  ap- 
peared. Rain-spattered,  she  must  have  struck  Nigel  as 
a  remarkable  figure,  standing  there  in  his  doorway.  For 
a  moment  he  did  not  recognise  her. 

"  Marian !  "  he  cried.    "  Why,  you're  wet.    Come  in !  " 

She  found  herself  in  a  large,  barely-furnished  room. 
A  fire  was  burning,  and  there  were  many  scraps  of 
charred  paper  in  the  fireplace,  some  of  them  still  smoul- 
dering. A  portmanteau,  half-filled,  lay  upon  the  floor,  at 
a  couple  of  yards'  distance.  A  few  books  were  near  it. 
The  room  had  a  dismantled  air. 

"  You're  going,"  Marian  said,  suddenly  pale  at  the 
knowledge.    "  I'm  too  late." 

"  To-morrow.  To-morrow  morning  early."  He  was 
distrait,  rather  embarrassed  at  her  intrusion. 

"  Listen,  then.  Nigel,  you  must  go  at  once  and  see 
Cherry,  d'you  see?  As  soon  as  I've  gone.  You  must 
see  her  before  you  go  away." 

Nigel  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  her,"  he 
said,  distinctly.     "  I  can't  plead." 

Marian's  head  jerked  in  impatience  at  this  stubborn- 
ness. She  was  quite  equally  determined,  and  with  more 
wisdom  than  he. 

"  You  must  not  spoil  your  opportunity  by  this  im- 
patient pride,"  she  urged.  "You're  in  love  with  her; 
and  yet  you  won't  take  the  trouble  to  win  her.  Oh,  I 
know  what  I'm  talking  about,  Nigel.  Believe  me. 
Cherry  has  to  be  won." 

"  She's  refused  me,"  he  said,  impatiently. 

"  You're  bent  on  war  with  her?  "  asked  Marian.  "  In 
other  people  you'd  see  how  stupid  that  attitude  is.    You'd 


294  SEPTEMBER 

be  the  first  to  say  that  if  they  want  a  thing  they  must 
be  ready  to  be  patient  for  it."  He  tried  to  speak.  "  Wait 
till  I've  said  this,  Nigel.  Think  of  Cherry  as  a  girl  as 
high-mettled  as  yourself.  You  do  her  an  injustice.  You 
think  that  because  you've  been  rebuffed  the  whole  thing 
is  over.  It's  never  over.  Nothing  is  ever  over  while 
there's  determination  and  good  will.  D'you  see  how  wars 
occur?  They  come,  if  there's  no  plot,  because  irre- 
sponsible people  lose  their  tempers  and  refuse  accommo- 
dation. When  one's  young,  one  says — '  Do  what  I  want, 
or  I'll  break  you,  or  break  with  you.'  You're  not  as 
young  as  that,  you  know." 

"She's  refused  me." 

"  Well  ?  "  Marian's  eyes  glowed.  "  What  woman 
wouldn't?" 

Nigel  started.  Something  which  he  held  in  his  hand — 
a  paper,  or  a  letter — dropped  upon  the  floor. 

"  What  d'you  mean?  "  he  asked. 

"It's  an  instinct  to  refuse.  It's  a  fear,  a  dread.  The 
finer  the  character,  the  greater  the  sense  of  risk.  D'you 
suppose  a  girl  as  fine  as  Cherry  is  waiting  to  drop  into 
your  mouth?  How  arrogant  you  are !  How  arrogant !  " 
She  was  bitterly  angry,  and  yet  had  not  lost  her  temper. 
His  obstinacy  had  roused  all  her  chagrin. 

"But  you  .  .  ."he  stammered.  "You're  not  like 
that." 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  she  indignantly  cried.  "  I'm  un- 
scrupulous. I'd  lie  to  the  last  if  my  impulse  bade  me  to 
do  so.  Can't  you  realise  that  Cherry's  a  high-strung 
creature,  not  mad  to  get  married ;  but  a  real  girl,  a  human 
being  like  yourself,  with  all  your  arrogance,  and  some- 
thing more  of  her  own?  A  secret  creature  that  you'll 
never  grasp  all  your  life?" 

Nigel  stared  at  her  stupidly. 

"  You  terrify  me,"  he  said. 


THE  ERRAND  295 

"Why?    Are  you  a  fraid  of  marrying  an  equal?" 

"  Certainly  not."    He  was  as  angry  as  she. 

"  Very  well.  Go  straight  to  Cherry  and  plead  with 
her.  Humble  yourself.  Let  her  see  that  it's  not  you 
who  stoop   ..." 

"Marian!" 

"  When  a  man  asks  a  girl  to  marry  him,  and  rides 
off  at  her  refusal,  it's  because  he  loves  himself,  and  his 
own  pride — his  own  vanity,  if  you  like — better  than  the 
girl.  You  love  yourself  more  than  you  love  Cherry. 
Poor  Cherry !  " 

"Marian.  That's  not  true.  What  of  poor  Nigel? 
Am  I  to  efface  myself?" 

"  If  she  loves  you  she'll  meet  you  exactly  half-way." 

"  She's  refused  me.  This  isn't  simply  a  quarrel.  It's 
a  break." 

"  And  so  you're  both  unhappy.  You've  asked  her  to 
give  you  everything;  and  you're  marking  out  the  limit 
of  your  own  concessions.  Nigel,  I've  no  patience  with 
you.  I  beg  you  to  go  now,  now,  to  Cherry.  You  can  do 
no  harm.    And  afterwards  you'll  have  no  self-reproach." 

Nigel  stood  irresolute.  Marian  went  swiftly  to  him, 
and,  putting  her  hand  upon  his  elbow,  kissed  his  cheek. 
Deeply  flushing,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  Then  his  eye  went  straight  to  the  wall,  against 
which  hung  his  new  cap  and  overcoat. 

'Shall  I?"  he  asked.     Marian  regarded  him  with  a 
perfectly  sphinx-like  expression.    She  knew  she  had  won. 

It  was  then  that  the  electric  bell  whirred. 


IV 

The  newcomer  was  Howard. 

'My   wife   here?"   he   demanded.      Nigel's   cheerful 
response  sounded.     Howard  plunged  forward  into  the 


296  SEPTEMBER 

room,  a  great  big  man  with  an  absurd  red  face  of  concern. 
He  had  come,  it  seemed,  expecting  Marian;  whose  sur- 
prised face  and  smiling  welcome  pulled  him  up  short. 

'Oh,   Howard;  you   shouldn't  have  troubled!"   she 
cried.    "  But  it's  very  nice  of  you." 

"  Troubled !  "  stammered  Howard,  darkly  suspicious. 

"  I'm  coming  at  once." 

Nigel  put  on  his  cap  and  overcoat.  Howard  stretched 
out  an  arm. 

"  I'm  taking  my  wife  home,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that's  quite  all  right,"  agreed  Nigel,  turning 
back  the  collar  of  his  coat.  "  I'm  going  in  the  other 
direction." 

Howard  stared.  Marian,  curious  to  know  the  object 
of  his  visit,  was  amused  to  see  his  bewilderment.  What 
was  he  thinking  about  ?    Why  had  he  come  ? 

In  a  minute  they  were  all  out  of  the  flat,  and  the 
Forsters  were  in  Howard's  taxi.  There  were  "  good 
nights,"  and  then  all  was  darkness  except  for  the  dimmed 
cab  lamps. 

'How  did  you  know  where  to  find  me?"  Marian 
asked,  gaily. 

Howard's  gruff  voice  entered  into  an  explanation. 

"  I  saw  you  come  out  of  the  flat  ...  I  was  just 
arriving.  I  called  you,  and  came  after  you;  but  lost 
sight  of  you.  My  hat  blew  off.  I  went  back  to  the  flat, 
found  a  letter  to  that  chap.    Came  along." 

"But  why?" 

Howard's  reply  was  extraordinarily  illuminating.  It 
made  Marian  give  a  sudden  despairing  shout  of  laughter, 
and  clutch  his  arm.  As  if  it  needed  this  to  point  the  irony 
of  everything! 

"  Because  I'm  so  damned  jealous,  my  dear,"  said 
Howard,  simply,  and  very  humbly. 


CHAPTER  XI:  CHERRY  AND  MARIAN 


IT  was  after  breakfast  the  next  morning,  and  after 
Howard  had  gone  to  the  office,  that  Cherry  came. 
She  had  none  of  the  blithe  spirits  that  Marian  had  ex- 
pected. Instead,  there  was  an  air  of  constraint  that  made 
her  almost  pathetic.  Marian  herself  was  grave,  but  this 
morning  not  unhappy.  Indeed,  her  manner  was  easier 
than  it  had  been  for  some  time,  because  she  was  at  peace 
with  herself. 

"  Hullo!  You  are  early!  "  she  cried,  but  with  a  smile 
that  made  the  greeting  without  offensiveness.  "  Have 
you  had  breakfast?" 

"  Hours  ago !  "  exclaimed  Cherry,  emulating  Marian's 
ease.  "Why,  the  morning's  half  gone.  I  thought  you 
might  be  out — marketing.  I'm  supposed  to  be  that.  I'm 
out  to  buy  a  thimble  and  a  comb." 

"  Splendid !  Have  you  bought  them  ?  We'll  buy  them 
together.  I  want  some  things.  We'll  go  to  Harrods. 
At  a  big  place  they  don't  mind  selling  little  things.  They 
can't  tell  whether  you're  buying  big  things  in  the  next 
department  or  not.     I'll  get  my  coat." 

Marian  was  making  for  the  door  when  Cherry  cried 
out  sharply: 

"Don't  go!" 

Marian  stopped.  The  voice  had  been  so  pleading.  She 
came  back  at  once,  and  sat  down  on  a  hassock,  while 
Cherry  knelt  upon  the  hearthrug  and  finally  sat  down 

297 


298  SEPTEMBER 

with  the  flames  making  firelight  upon  her  cheeks  and 
runnells  of  gold  in  her  pretty  hair. 

"Well?"  asked  Marian. 

"  Well,  you  knoiv,"  Cherry  answered. 

"Nothing!"  declared  Marian.  She  endured  a  quick 
glance  from  Cherry  that  grew  into  a  long  one;  and  her 
innocence  was  abundantly  assumed. 

"  I've  told  Nigel  I  zvill  marry  him." 

Marian  was  not  quite  proof;  but  she  played  up  with 
courage. 

"  Good  girl,"  she  said.     "  So  he's  gone  away  happy." 

"  How  did  you  know  ? "  asked  Cherry,  sharply. 
Marian   started. 

"  That  he  was  going  away  ?  He  met  Howard  last 
night."  She  was  praying  that  Nigel  had  not  been  a  fool, 
that  he  had  not  told  Cherry  of  their  discussion. 

"Oh,"  said  Cherry.    "  I  see." 

"  You  don't  sound  very  cheerful.  I  thought  girls 
who  had  just  promised  to  marry  people  were  rather  jolly 
as  a  rule." 

Cherry  looked  down  at  her  knees,  outlined  by  her 
attitude. 

"  I  was  cheerful,"  she  explained,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
was  first  of  all  very  wretched — till  you  came.  Then  I 
was  less  wretched,  and  more  wretched.  And  then,  at  an 
awful  hour  last  night — for  visiting — Nigel  came. 
Marian,  he  really  was  rather  a  dear   ..." 

Marian  felt  that  the  room  was  stifling.  She  could  only 
breathe  in  little  jerking  sniffs  that  would  have  made  her 
laugh  at  another  time.     She  patted  Cherry's  hand. 

"  I'm  sure  he  must  have  been,"  she  said. 

Cherry  was  almost  like  a  cat,  although  her  bod)'  was 
as  firm  as  it  was  supple.  She  gave  Marian  a  searching 
glance,  and  Marian,  in  return,  was  aware  of  every 
faintest  motion  of  Cherry's. 


CHERRY  AND  MARIAN  299 

"  He  can  be  a  beast,"  cried  Cherry.  "  But  so  can  I, 
if  it  comes  to  that.  I  think  that's  one  thing  that  makes 
me  like  him." 

"  Quite  possibly,"  agreed  Marian,  in  a  dry  way. 

"  Marian,  are  you  glad  ?  "  asked  Cherry,  like  a  child. 

ii 

"  Awfully  glad,"  said  Marian,  reassuringly.  "I  think 
you're  both  going  to  be  happy.  I  hope  you  are.  Because 
you're  both   .    .    .   well,  rather  dears." 

Cherry  shook  her  head  vigorously. 

"I'm  not,"  she  cried.    Marian  moved  impatiently. 

"  You  always  say  that,"  she  objected.  "It's  because 
you  don't  know  the  minds  of  other  people.    I  do." 

Cherry  continued  to  look  dejected. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  she  said.  "  I  know  lots  of 
things  you  don't  know.  You  think  of  me  as  a  child.  I 
am,  in  some  ways;  but  I'm  an  old  experienced  woman, 
in  others." 

"  My  dear  Cherry,"  retorted  Marian,  very  candidly. 
"  If  you  suppose  I  haven't  got  some  shrewd  ideas  about 
you,  you  underrate  my  intelligence.  I  don't  know  all 
about  you.  You  know  almost  nothing  about  yourself. 
I  think  there  are  some  things  in  you  that  .  .  . 
well   ..." 

"  That  are  rotten,"  supplied  Cherry. 

"  That  I  don't  like,  at  any  rate." 

"There  are  things  in  you  that  /  don't  like,"  said 
Cherry.  "  Your  inhumanness,  and  your  quietness  .  .  . 
your  way  of  making  me  feel  a  beastly  little  pig." 

Marian  gave  a  quite  audible  sigh. 

"  Horrid  little  egotist,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  am.  I  know.  I'm  everything  that's  horrible  .  .  . 
But  there's  something.  I'm  just  Cherry,  and  that's  all 
you  can  say." 


300  SEPTEMBER 

"  I  think  that  would  have  come  better  from  me,"  re- 
proved Marian,  laughing.  They  were  very  friendly  now, 
friendly  and  intimate;  and  Cherry's  old  warm  eagerness 
had  returned,  and  her  childish  happiness  in  Marian's 
company.  They  had  only  to  be  together  a  little  while 
for  Cherry  to  lose  her  hard  aggressiveness  and  to  show 
the  humility  that  lay  far  beneath  her  superficial  self- 
confidence. 

"  There's  one  thing  you  don't  know  about  me,  though," 
said  Cherry,  becoming  serious.  "  It's  a  thing  I'm 
ashamed  of,  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  because  we  shall  never 
be  right  until  you  know.  I  should  always  feel  a  con- 
straint if  I  didn't  know  that  you  knew;  and  I  think  it'll 
make  you  feel  less  nice  to  me   ..." 

"  Don't  I  know  everything  .  .  .  everything  that  con- 
cerns me?"  Marian  wearily  lowered  her  head,  so  that 
it  was  within  an  inch  of  Cherry's.  Straying  hairs  of 
both,  so  similar  in  colour  and  beauty,  came  into  contact. 
Perhaps  both  Marian  and  Cherry  knew  this;  but  neither 
moved,  or  gave  any  sign  of  such  consciousness. 

"  It's  this,"  resumed  Cherry,  very  quietly.  "  When  I 
was  ...  at  Hippeswell  ..."  A  flush  rose  to  her 
cheeks.  Her  voice  sank  to  a  tiny  murmur  that  was 
hardly  more  than  a  whisper.  "  You  were  so  nice  to  me, 
Marian.  You  hadn't  any  reason  to  be.  But  I  never 
meant  to  be  bad  .  .  .  I'm  thoughtless  and  selfish  .  .  . 
Yes,  I  am  bad,  though.  Only  I  don't  mean  to  be.  But 
this  is  when  I  meant  to  be  bad.  When  I  saw  you  with 
Nigel,  I  thought  you  were  in  love  with  him.  Your  voice 
was  so  different   ..." 

"How  ridiculous!"  said  Marian,  moving  uneasily. 

"  As  though  you  were  dreaming.  And  you  spoke  about 
him  .  .  .  And  then,  when  he  came  back  to  London, 
I  met  Nigel  at  a  dinner-party;  and  he  sat  next  to  me. 
And  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  talk  to  him  about 


CHERRY  AND  MARIAN  301 

except  you.  And  I  led  him  on  to  talk  about  you,  and 
got  more  and  more  jealous  of  you,  because  you  were  so 
splendid  and  I  was  so  .  .  .  ugly  and  full  of  base 
thoughts  and  wishes  to  do  base  things  ...  I  felt  that 
he  oughtn't  to  talk  about  you  like  that  to  another  woman. 
As  though  you  were  perfect.  I  felt  you  had  everything, 
just  because  you  were  cold  and  self-contained  ..." 
"  Cold !  "  whispered  Marian.  "  Oh  my  dear  Cherry !  " 
"  You  arc,  you  know,"  persisted  Cherry.  "  So  I  felt 
very  irritated  and  jealous  and  mischievous.  Horrible! 
And  I  .  .  .  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  ..."  She 
could  no  longer  speak.  Her  voice  was  trembling.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  dabbed  them  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, very  seriously,  like  a  child,  and  blew  her  nose. 
"  You  see  what  a  beast  I  am,"  she  articulated  at  last. 
Marian  waited. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said.  "  You  made  up  your  mind  .  .  ." 
"  I  said  we'd  meet,  and  I  played  with  him,  and  he 
was  rather  charmed,  and  I  did  it  all  for  jealousy  of  you, 
meaning  to  play  a  trick  on  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  take 
him  away  from  you  altogether.  You  mustn't  believe  that 
of  me,  Marian.  But  just  to  play  with  him.  And  then  I 
found  out  one  day  that  I  hated  you ;  and  I  knew  that  that 
meant  I'd  gone  too  far  and  .  .  .  Every  time  I  saw 
you  I  had  the  feeling  that  I  was  being  punished  for  being 
treacherous  to  you.  I  haven't  had  a  good  conscience  all 
the  time.  I  meant  to  tell  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you; 
and  Howard  came  in,  and  I've  gone  on  letting  you  love 
me  all  the  time  because  I  couldn't  bear  you  to  understand 
what  a  mean  thing  I  was.  And  I  tried  to  send  Nigel 
away  because  I  couldn't  feel  I  had  any  right  to  be  loved 
by  him  and  to  love  him.  And  now  if  you  want  never  to 
see  me  again  I'll  go  .  .  .  Oh,  but  Marian,  I  can't  bear 
you  to  hate  me;  because  I'm  only  a  beastly  little  girl, 
and  I   .    .    ." 


302  SEPTEMBER 

Cherry  began  to  cry,  strained  against  Marian's  breast, 
and  Marian's  lips  pressed  to  her  hair. 

•  •  • 

in 

The  fit  of  crying  was  very  short,  but  they  did  not 
speak  for  a  long  time.  It  had  been  a  relief  to  both  of 
them;  for  in  this  demand  for  her  love  Marian  found 
concealment  for  her  own  suffering.  There  seemed  noth- 
ing to  be  said,  upon  either  side;  and  yet  she  must  speak, 
because  to  be  silent  would  be  to  leave  Cherry  with  a 
sense  of  having  given  a  secret  unrepaid. 

"  Cherry,"  she  began  at  last,  "  I  will  never  send  you 
away.  I  told  you  I  couldn't  do  that.  It's  so  strange  that 
I've  had  cruel  thoughts  about  you,  and  hostilities,  too. 
I  think  I've  been  jealous  of  you,  as  you've  been  of  me; 
only  a  different  kind.  You  see,  being  older,  I  go  through 
different  things.  Or  they  seem  different.  And  I  don't 
think  either  of  us  is  very  well  able  to  speak  freely.  The 
people  who  can  speak  freely  don't  feel  very  much  per- 
haps. I  don't  know.  Only  I'm  not  old.  I  suffer  terribly, 
sometimes;  and  because  nobody  knows  or  suspects  what 
is  going  on  in  my  heart  I  think  I  suffer  more  than  ever. 
When  you  say  I'm  cold  I  just  feel  you  don't  understand 
me,  and  that  makes  me  so  awfully  unwilling  to  judge 
you.  I  don't  judge  you.  I  think  of  you  as  like  myself, 
trying  very  hard  to  do  what  seems  to  you  to  be  right 
and  wise  and  good,  but  never  quite  sure  what  is  best  to 
be  done,  and  often  being  led  into  folly  by  all  sorts  of 
impulses  that  are  unaccountable.  It's  so  hard  to  do 
what's  wise,  even  if  one  wants  to.  And  what  makes 
things  hard  for  both  of  us  is  that  we  both  think,  and 
thought  brings  unhappiness  as  well  as  tranquillity. 
You're  young,  and  you  do  things  that  are  natural,  and 
sometimes  silly,  and  sometimes  thoughtlessly  cruel;  and 
yet  when  you  think  at  all,  or  are  made  to  suffer  for  what 


CHERRY  AND  MARIAN  303 

you've  done,  your  brains  make  you  see  everything  very 
clearly,  and  you  get  the  idea  that  you're  wicked.  When 
if  you  could  know  what  other  people  think  and  do,  and 
how  they  cheat  themselves  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  you'd  feel 
differently.  It's  all  because  you're  young  and  because 
you're  very  self-engrossed,  so  that  you're  always  think- 
ing about  yourself,  and  for  yourself,  and  not  sufficiently 
realising  that  everything  you  do  has  its  effect  on  others. 
Everything  you  do.  It  has  its  effect  on  me,  of  course, 
and  yourself;  but  on  others  as  well,  even  on  those  who 
aren't  born  yet.  And  I  shall  presently  be  an  old  woman, 
and  old  women,  unless  they're  very  busy  or  contented, 
have  terrible  opportunities  for  thinking  and  remember- 
ing  ..    . 

"  When  you're  married  you'll  find  that  every  impulse 
of  yours  may  pull  against  the  impulse  of  Nigel's,  and  if 
you  insist  upon  going  your  way  you'll  both  be  very 
unhappy,  because  that  will  harden  him  and  make  him 
cruel  in  return.  So  marriage  will  be  very  difficult  for 
you,  and  it's  only  if  you  try  hard  to  be  considerate,  and 
find  your  happiness  in  Nigel's  happiness,  that  the  mar- 
riage will  succeed.  You  see  I'm  being  a  wiseacre,  and 
I  hate  to  be  that;  but  when  I  think  of  all  you  may  grow 
to  be  I  feel  an  extraordinary  sense  of  responsibility  to 
you." 

"  Why  should  you?  "  asked  Cherry,  in  a  whisper. 

"  It  isn't  because  I  feel  superior  to  you.  It's  simply 
that  being  outside  you  I  see  the  dangers  you  run  in  being 
so  pretty,  and  thoughtless,  and  rather  selfish.  And  I  see 
how  increasingly  you'll  suffer  for  being  those  things 
through  being  able  to  think  clearly,  and  unable  to  trust 
others.  You  still  can't  bear  reproof,  because  it  offends 
you;  and  you're  sensitive  even  about  anything  I  may  say, 
although  you  know  I  love  you  and  believe  in  your  power 
to  be  a  noble  woman." 


304  SEPTEMBER 

"  But  you  do  believe  in  me  ? "  said  Cherry.  It  was 
only  half  a  question.  For  the  rest,  it  was  a  confident 
assumption.  Already  Cherry's  mind  had  gone  back  to 
herself,  to  the  sense  that  she  was  invincibly  Cherry.  She 
was  not  yet  able  to  appreciate  Marian  disinterestedly  as 
a  noble  woman ;  but  must  forever  institute  a  comparison 
between  them  and  feel  humiliated  at  her  own  tempera- 
mental failures.  No  speech  of  Marian's — however  much 
it  might  bring  truth  into  Cherry's  comprehension — 
would  effect  an  essential  change  in  her  nature. 

Marian,  unconscious  of  any  need  for  comparison,  since 
she  knew  herself  to  be  as  imperfect  as  Cherry,  sat  looking 
at  the  fire,  with  Cherry's  head  against  her  shoulder.  The 
day  outside  darkened  as  great  storm-clouds  covered  the 
sky.  The  room  was  in  a  grey  half-light  well  suited  to 
the  mood  of  these  two  who  sought  to  plumb  the  depths 
of  their  sympathy  and  their  dissonance.  Marian  was  now 
very  composed  and  resolute,  and  entirely  mistress  of  her- 
self, as  she  had  always  been  and  as  she  always  would  be. 
She  was  able  to  feel  sympathy  and  understanding  be- 
cause she  had  the  power  to  give  inexhaustibly;  but  her 
reward  thenceforward  was  to  lie  in  the  love  and  trust 
of  her  fellows  rather  than  in  any  satisfaction  of  her  own 
passion  for  happy  experience.  If  Marian  could  have 
prayed  for  a  gift,  she  would  have  demanded  joy  in  her 
life.  Instead,  nature  had  given  her  as  compensation  the 
strength  and  courage  to  endure  her  own  pain  and  the 
ability  to  imagine  and  soften  the  distress  of  others.  If 
it  is  not  the  first  of  gifts  it  is  among  those  most  rarely 
bestowed  upon  poor  mortals,  and  is  without  price. 


THE    END 


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